New Order (AHS: Apocalypse)
by Jurana Keri
Summary: Set five years after 'Daughter of Darkness', King Elijah of Regnum Infernale receives a series of visitations from his distant past. The visitors urge him to undergo a dangerous magical feat that could change his world forever. Meanwhile, his son is on a dangerous power trip. Is it really worth throwing away the life he's always known in order to restore the natural order?
1. Ch 1 - The Return Home

**Chapter 1: The Return Home**

John Vanderbilt had been gone for two years from Sanctum One, or the first sanctuary. He had never been in a radiation suit before, nor stepped beyond the boundary into the world outside, still quite fetid with radioactive chemicals from the apocalyptic blasts back in 2019 – now, it was 2032, and the outside world beyond the sanctuaries were not going to change until every inhabitant was long dead. He had been sent on a mission, orders of the Queen and King, to make the population of Sanctum Two, the sanctuary in Texas, more diverse and possibly add demonic spawn to their population as well. His rulers could have very easily sent sperm to the Cooperative branch at that sanctuary to artificially inseminate any women of childbearing age, but John wanted to actually go and experience the outside world and meet other people; with this came his favorite thing of all – sex. There was more than enough of this to indulge in to go around, but not by much. The second sanctuary, mostly with survivors who made the cut from the outpost in Bora Bora, was only populated to just over a hundred people when he got there. Two years later, it spiked by sixteen more citizens because of John's tendency to be always horny and the women more than willing to lay in bed with him. He already had seven back at Sanctum One, some of whom were approaching adulthood by his return, so his total progeny amounted to twenty-three.

Of course, John did not look at all like he was the biological father to twenty-three children. He was thirty by what the eyes could tell, but in actuality, he was ten. That was one of the curses of being half-demon; John aged at an accelerated rate compared to normal humans. He didn't mind it too much, though; after all, he was still very handsome. He had been when he was younger at five or six, but at ten, it was like he got better with age, like a fine wine. His flaxen blond hair was clipped short and neatly, and unlike when he was younger, he did not put gel in it anymore to tame it. It was like he let his inner beast free. It was tousled in the front, drawing some attention to his hazel eyes and the distinctive red eyeshadow he was ordered to wear, along with his half-siblings, to signify his status as Demon. His face was chiseled, and his body was perfectly formed in a masculine, muscular shape standing at six-foot-two. He wondered if the twins, Hunter and Axel, had returned from their identical mission to Sanctum Three in Virginia – he missed them. He missed everyone, in fact.

Upon his return, he paid a visit to the compound where Their Infernal Excellencies, Queen Melanie and her devoted consort King Elijah, resided with their children, the Prince and Princess of Regnum Infernale. He had used transmutation to get up to the front door, where he knocked loudly. He heard footsteps on the other side, where a young man with soft handsomeness looked at him at almost eye-level – he looked to be roughly eighteen or nineteen years of age, and the first thing John noticed was his long, light brown hair in a perfect wave down toward the ends of his strands. He had a healthy complexion, light blue eyes, and a striking smile that greeted him.

"Uncle John?" he asked; his voice could have been that of a woman's, it was so soft.

"Ah, Anathem," the older man said with a smile, outstretching his hand for a firm handshake. Anathem was the Prince and heir apparent to the throne after Melanie and Elijah were unable to rule anymore. _I can't believe it_ , he thought to himself, _the boy is practically a girl, look at him. He also has no defects. Why are humans more affected by incest than we are?_

"You've returned," the Prince said. "I…I have to go tell Mother and Father at once. Come in!"

Once entering the royal suite, his eyes looked around the room before he saw the smiling face of a younger female, a girl who looked to be about thirteen or fourteen with long, straight light blonde hair, fair skin, with feline-shaped blue-green eyes that tended to change color. She was also very short, standing around five feet, and had a petite frame and a very familiar diamond-shaped face. Her smile was striking, like Anathem's, as she ran up to her uncle to hug him. Her name was Desdemona, the Princess.

"Uncle John! You're back! How was Sanctum Two?" she asked excitedly between a squeeze around her uncle's hard body.

"Ah, it's was _great_ ," he winced, letting her go. "The experience of a lifetime." He paused and looked at his niece. "How old are you now?"

"Four and a half," she answered.

"You sure don't look it," John chuckled, "but then again, with us? We _never_ look our age." He looked at Anathem. "And you?"

"Six."

"Oh my, you're gonna be a man soon."

"I believe I already am," Anathem answered back with annoyance.

"So where are Their Infernal Excellencies?" John questioned.

"At some Cooperative meeting," Desdemona said with a shrug of indifference. "You can stay if you want. Go sit."

John took the invitation from his niece and sat down on the lounge chair that directly faced the kitchen area in the open concept. This suite was once inhabited by the fallen king, Michael, the Antichrist prophesized to destroy and take over the world, and his wife, Queen Misty. This was the very same place where he had assisted Elijah just over five years ago in avenging the unjust killing of Melanie after Michael also killed the Queen – yet he had been killed by the King in the process and brought back to life by Melanie, who was brought back by Elijah with vitalum vitalis. He watched as Desdemona reached up into the cupboard to get a glass an empty filtering pitcher from the cupboard, and that is when he snapped his fingers.

"Dessi," he said, catching her attention, leaning forward and putting his elbows nonchalantly on his knees. "Set those down on that table over there."

"Why?"

"I want to show you something cool," he said with a smirk and wink. "Don't fill the pitcher, either."

"Uncle John, what are-"

He resorted to using intention to get her to do what he wanted: "Desdemona, please set that on the table. Do not fill the pitcher. I will not break your _precious_ glass."

Desdemona, as if in a trance, was silent and placed the empty pitcher and glass on the table as he instructed. Anathem covered his mouth off to the side as he started to laugh – John had used concilium, and he knew because he possessed the same ability as well. _So naïve_ , he thought.

"Good girl," he praised. "Now…" He raised both of his hands in the air, directed at the objects. "Watch closely."

Anathem and Desdemona looked on to watch their uncle effortless lift the cup and pitcher off the table and swiftly into his hands. They gasped as he progressed to look into the pitcher and fill it with what looked to be water. There was none on his hands, and he smiled when it was full before pouring himself a glass. The Prince went over to his uncle with an amazed look on his soft face.

"That was _awesome_!" he exclaimed. "How did you learn that?"

"I have experienced some growth while I was away. Aside from my mission, I had to occupy my time somehow," John said, taking a sip of the water he conjured in the cup. "So, I put that focus on myself and my powers."

"Well, what can you do?" Desdemona asked.

"Ah… I already had transmutation, pyro, and divination skills. The last one I actually improved a lot more when I was away. What you just witnessed was hydrokinesis. I can manipulate water as well as other liquids. Telekinesis, also quite obvious from what you saw." He looked at his niece, and she looked at him strangely: "Desdemona, I used something on you just now. Can you tell me what it was?"

"On _me_?" she questioned.

"You idiot," Anathem said rudely, "he coerced you to put the pitcher and cup down because you wouldn't comply."

"Very good, _but_ I did not ask you," John said, pointing his finger to his nephew.

"She doesn't know much about powers, Uncle John," Anathem justified. "I have what you have, so I obviously know. She's a little girl."

"Shut up, you!" Desdemona barked. "I am _not_ a little girl!"

John rolled his eyes: "not any _more_."

Just then, the front door of the open concept flew open, revealing two familiar faces; one man and one woman, dressed in finery a step above business casual. The man had his gloved hand raised as he entered, and the doors seemed to shut by themselves behind them. The woman was clad in a red pantsuit consisting of a fire engine-red blazer and matching pants with a black button-up shirt underneath. Her golden curls were perfectly tamed in a chignon adorned with ruby clips to keep it in place. On her inner eye sockets she wore a much-heavier variant of the red eyeshadow worn by the Demon class in Regnum Infernale. She looked to physically be thirty-nine, but in reality she was thirteen. This was Her Infernal Majesty, Queen Melanie.

By her side was a strikingly handsome man with neatly-combed dark brown hair; in some light it looked black as night. At first glance, anyone would be frightened of him, but deep down, he was a sensitive, romantic sort. His eyes were piercing, able to penetrate through the very soul with their glacial blue color. His skin was fair, like that of the Queen, and he had high cheekbones and a defined jawline. In fact, if one were to put a painting or photo of King Michael, the previous regnant, next to one of him, they looked almost identical. Even though he was in actuality ten years old, he had the appearance of a thirty-year-old human man. He was clad in all-black save for the antiquated red scarf that hung gracefully around his neck and down to his ebony suit, and on his hands, he wore black leather gloves. He looked powerful, and even _felt_ powerful, lighting up the room with his inhuman vibrations. This was His Infernal Majesty, King Elijah. At their presence, John stood up and smiled grandly at them, and Melanie was the first to respond.

"John, you've returned. How was your journey home?" she said, extending her hand out to him. He used transmutation to get closer to his royals, bowing to them and taking Melanie's hand into his, kissing it. Elijah gave him a side-eye and stood silently.

"It was quite tiring, but I'm here! All in one piece," John smirked. He looked over at Elijah, "and how are _you_ , my King?"

"Just fine, thanks." He sounded demure, but there was power in his silence.

"You must be absolutely _famished_ ," Melanie said. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Would I?" John asked, taking his Queen up on her offer.

"Splendid."

* * *

Elijah was not very keen on having an extra dinner guest that evening, but if it made Melanie happy, then that was all that mattered to him. He stiffed his upper lip and endured a lengthy, unusually-sumptuous dinner with John as well as his two children. They had a five-course meal, prepared by two cooks who came three times daily specifically for the purpose of preparing meals for their royals. For that evening, the cooks procured a fine wine from the Cooperative's reserves. It was aged over the course of 125 years, since 1907 in France. For the soup, they were served chicken hearts in a thick, stew-liked broth. John particularly enjoyed that dish. There was strawberry sorbet made from freshly-harvested crop from the sanctuary as a palate cleanser before the main course, which was raw beef heart minced in a cold pie with vegetables and other pluck from the cow that was killed for their meal. Elijah's moodiness subsided a little after three glasses of wine, but he was still silent, taking in his surroundings like he normally did. He was more so in disbelief at the turn of events that led John to being granted a title and privileged enough to sit at the royal dinner table. As children, John brutally bullied Elijah, and the two had an intense rivalry until Melanie helped him exact revenge on his adversary. He had brought him back to life in his very first attempt at vitalum vitalis, and John eventually became an ally to him. Due to his blood ties to the royals, he and their other half-siblings were given the title Archduke or Archduchess of the House of Langdon. It was merely for show, however; none of them or their progeny were in line for the throne.

"So why _did_ you go to Sanctum Two?" Desdemona asked, taking a sip of her wine as she ate.

"To make _babies_ , Dessi," Anathem teased.

"I didn't ask you."

"Yes, that's why," John said, answering Anathem. _I wonder if they gave Dessi 'the talk' yet_ , he thought; Melanie read every word his soul conveyed.

"Actually, no," she said, replying as if he spoke; he was a bit spooked but not surprised. "We haven't given her that talk yet."

"I don't know when she will even be ready for such a conversation," Elijah said, taking a hefty sip of his wine.

"Adulthood," Melanie stated. "When she is ready."

"I concur," Elijah agreed submissively. "She's only four and a half, she doesn't need to know what goes on in _that_ situation just yet."

"It _does_ vary, Father. Men with men is different," Anathem giggled. "I'd know."

"You're in line to be King one day," John said. "You won't have a Queen?"

"I hate women," the Prince said crudely. "All except for my mother and sister."

Melanie rolled her eyes as Elijah gave his input: "my son, there is so much to love about women, so many things to admire. I have no problem regarding your _preference_ toward men but keep your misogyny to yourself."

"Hey, why not there be _two_ Kings when we are gone?" Melanie proposed, holding her glass of wine before sipping it gracefully. "Or even two _Queens_ for that matter? Hell only knows this isn't the old world and does not in any way, shape, or form need to be like that."

"Your father is right. Women are amazing creatures, if I _do_ say so myself," John said with a wink to his half-brother at one head of the table.

"Uh," Desdemona raised her hand gingerly, "could I be excused?" She paused. "I'm full."

"You are? Already?" Elijah asked his daughter. "Are you sure you have no room left for dessert?"

"I can skip that tonight, Father."

"Very well," he smiled as his daughter rose to her feet. "Take your plate and clean it. _Spotless_ , please."

"Yes, Father," she said, leaning down to kiss his cheek affectionately before making her way to the sink.

Anathem was still seated at the table, but it took him a half hour to finish his main course. Then, dessert was served, which consisted of raspberry ice cream drizzled in chocolate syrup, a luxury only accessible to their class of people as there was not very much of it left in the world at all. This was a night to celebrate the safe return of John through the dangerous world on the outside of the sanctuaries, having to travel for five days straight just about to get back from Sanctum Two. He excused himself so that John, Melanie and Elijah could be alone. The cooks had left, and after a three-hour feast, the royals were ready to bring on their praises along with their next proposition for what he could do in the sanctuary.

"My Queen and I have read about the population boom over there," Elijah said with a nod. "We are quite pleased with the progress."

"I'm glad I _could_ please," John said, taking a sip of his seventh glass of wine. "Say, did Hunter and Axel make it back yet?"

"They did," Melanie said. "They returned two days ago. They left rather early from Sanctum Three. It took them eight days to return. They've been exhausted ever since."

"I can imagine. This is the first real food I've had since my last dinner at Sanctum Two," he said; he paused for a moment, feeling an intuitive impression. "Your Infernal Excellencies, I do have a couple of questions, if I may. Just so I can catch up on what's happened here in Sanctum One."

"Go ahead," Melanie said, listening along with her consort.

"Firstly, how have things been? Who's been appointed to what?" he asked.

"As you knew before you left us," Melanie explained, "Ashley was appointed as High Priestess of our Reformed Church of Satan."

"Every Black Mass is _something else_. It's added a whole new dimension to our kingdom, for those who could attend in person," Elijah said. "They are heavily inspired by the Laveyan rituals, but… we've put our own spin on them."

"Sacrifice?"

"Not always," Melanie said in response to John's inquiry. "When they do happen, Ashley can eat any organ she wants from the sacrifice."

"What about the other sanctuaries? Will they have a Reformed Church of Satan?"

"We cannot force religion, now, John," Melanie said, putting down her glass of wine. "That caused a ton of problems in the old world that frankly I do _not_ want to see in the new. Our subjects are _encouraged_ to listen to the Black Mass on the radio or pick up a copy of the Satanic Bible, but we cannot _force_ them. As long as they are loyal to this kingdom, they may live in peace."

"My Queen has wonderful foresight," Elijah said with praise, reaching to hold Melanie's hand on the table. "She knows more about the old world than I do, and so far, things have been quite peaceful here."

"What about Isla? Lydia?"

"Isla is working on a new study involving demon spawn. I do not know the details yet, but it is extensive. Most every child of demonic heritage is taking part in it. Only two hours a day, Monday to Friday, for the next year or so," the Queen told him. "As for Lydia, as well as Hunter and Axel because this pertains to them as well… she is part of the proposition we have for you."

"Hm," John said, sucking his teeth after his next sip of wine. "I had a feeling. Does it by chance have anything to do with the demon youth of our fine kingdom?"

Melanie's eyes widened, and she nodded: "I'm impressed, John."

"So, am I right?"

"Yes. Elijah and I have considered that you, along with Lydia, Axel and Hunter would be the primary instructors for the newly-imposed Azazel Academy for Gifted Youth," she clarified. "We are hoping that you will accept this opportunity to teach and guide our demonic class to know more about their powers and help them grow in whatever areas they wish."

"A school, huh?" he asked.

"Yes," Elijah added. "Not to toot my horn but… I wish I had someone to actually teach me in a school setting with experience when I was younger. I had my Queen to teach me most of it, but consider it giving our youth something _we_ never had. We had to learn by life's trials and errors to discover our abilities as well as who and what we were."

"Let's not fail to add that we've had a few reports of demon children running amok and killing unsuspecting passersby," Melanie said. "This will be a good way to keep them in line. We have had to send poor Dessi to bring them back to life at the Clinic."

"She can do that?" John asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Oh yes. She's had the power since she was about two, the power of resurgence. That was around the same time I discovered _I_ had it myself. My mother and father had it before me, as well," the Queen said. "She also can manipulate illusions, like my father could, she conjures things into existence or from a faraway place, and… I don't think anything else has developed yet. She is still so young."

John thought for a moment, slouching back in his seat – _not a bad idea_ , he thought as Melanie read every word, _after all, a good chunk of them are my children_.

"Indeed. For those you haven't met yet, consider it an opportunity to bond with them," Melanie said as though he spoke.

"Ah, yes… I accept," he said. "It is my duty, an honor and a privilege."

With that, he confirmed his status by putting his hand over the open rim of his wine glass, concentrating and filling it up effortlessly with wine using whatever was already left in there. Elijah's eyes lit up, and he looked as his Queen, who was the first to say something.

"Your powers seem to have grown," she said.

"Indeed, they have. Unlike what you may think, I didn't spend the _entire_ two years chasing pussycats."

 _We made the right decision_ , Melanie thought _, now we just need to see how it goes_.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _I was very hesitant to write a sequel/follow-up because I feared the third story would not be a fanfiction, or much of one, anymore because it is mostly OCs. However, I've come up with a great idea to tie it all together in more or less a fashion like the canon of Apocalypse._

 _Please Favorite, Follow, and leave a Review telling me what you think, as well as any suggestions as I am open to ideas as always! Stay tuned!_


	2. Ch 2 - The Ways of the World

**Chapter 2: The Ways of the World**

The following week, John, Lydia, Hunter, and Axel had been standing in the Grand Hall on the stage, waiting for all children of demonic descent from the sanctuary to attend their first day of their education at the Azazel Academy. The academy was not a physical place, but an embodiment of everyone present, and lessons were to be held from 9:30AM-13:00PM from Tuesdays to Fridays. Luckily, all four instructors had a diverse set of powers to teach about. Lydia, a prolific clairvoyant with the ability to conjure things into existence or from another place entirely, had grown to develop illusion manipulation and pyrokinesis. The twins, identical in every way, had now developed powers unique to them which helped others tell them apart; Hunter developed hydrokinesis like John had, as well as divination. Axel only developed pyrokinesis in addition to their shared transmutation, concilium, and telekinesis. They all were dressed in mostly black with red accents on their clothes, and they all donned the red eyeshadow in their inner eye sockets, as did the students as they walked in with their parents, mostly mothers.

Most of them were only half-human, so only a few stayed that truly took interest in what their children were being educated on. John took the liberty of smirking at a few of the women he recognized, and he knew right away that the students with them were his own kids – he had a total of four daughters and three sons in Sanctum One. They all physically looked to be between twelve and twenty-four years old (in actuality, between four and eight), not a far shot from how old the other students were. Five fathered by the twins, three mothered by Ashley, who could not attend but their human fathers were there. In addition to this were Anathem and Desdemona, the royal children, wearing mostly red to distinguish themselves. In total, there were seventeen students. When they all arrived, John stood tall and spoke charismatically to the small crowd of younger demon spawn, all staring up at him with their red-shadowed eyes.

"Welcome everyone," he said, holding his arms out with a cordial expression plastered on his visage. "I am John Vanderbilt, one of the Archdukes of the House of Langdon. This title is also shared by," he gestured over to each twin as he knew them, "Hunter and Axel Baxter," and he turned to Lydia, whose blue eyes stared at him indignantly, "and the _lovely_ Lydia Blackwell." She fixed her red tresses and moved forward to give her say, putting her hands together.

"Hm… I am not good at public speaking but… welcome! I'm glad to see you all, some of you for the first time while others are familiar faces," she said. "I look forward to assisting some of you with your powers."

The twins stepped forward next and spoke in unison: "welcome, students. We are the Baxter twins, and we can use telekinesis, transmutation, and concilium. We look forward to helping our kind grow stronger and more self-aware of their powers."

The students were dumbfounded – the twins were practically one person with how perfectly in sync they spoke. They looked at each other, and then back up to John, who raised his hands, using concilium to get their attention effortlessly.

"To begin, who can tell me where our kind comes from? Who are we?" John asked.

No one raised their hands – it was like crickets were in the Grand Hall. He sighed and chuckled, shaking his head until someone spoke; his eyes were diverted to a blonde-haired girl with short, tousled tresses who uncannily resembled Lydia. In fact, he knew exactly who she was. It was Lydia's daughter by him, and he only remembered her being born two years before he had to leave. She now was six, but physically around eighteen to nineteen.

"Isn't that why we are here to _learn_?" she asked, her voice cynical but firm.

He chuckled: "yes, Cecilia. You are correct. Let's start from the beginning. We are all progeny of the Antichrist, His Infernal Majesty, King Michael, first regnant of Regnum Infernale, who ruled from 2021 to 2027, when his daughter, now Queen Melanie, took the throne with her consort, who is now King Elijah. In fact, learning along side you as your classmates are Their Infernal Highnesses Anathem and Desdemona." He paused, making a come-here gesture with a focus on his targets. "Come forward, please."

Desdemona and Anathem were already standing off to the side, and as they came closer to the stage upon which stood the Archdukes and Archduchess, all of the students bowed reverently, as did the parents present who had taken their children to their first day. Desdemona and Anathem were tempted to roll their eyes at the fact that they were being shown off, but they embraced the attention they got anyways. After all, the entire world knew who they were.

"Rise." Anathem's orders with the use of concilium made everyone come back up to their feet, and he looked back at John, who smiled proudly and moved forward. _He's using that like a King would_ , he thought.

"Parents," he said, "you may be dismissed. Your children will be home to you at 13:00 today."

* * *

The first day at the Azazel Academy was not so much for lessons, but interviewing each student to find out their strengths, weaknesses, and what they wished to improve on or try to develop. John was in the most demand to take on students, whereas Lydia tended to take those with the more unusual powers, like conjuration, illusion manipulation, or types of clairvoyance. Desdemona was placed with her, while Anathem was placed under the guidance of John. Cecilia, the daughter of John and Lydia, was also placed under her mother's teaching.

There were a variety of practice exercises for the demon spawn who possessed the classical Seven Wonders, all save for vitalum vitalis or descensum. The most commonly-displayed abilities of the students happened to be telekinesis, pyrokinesis, and divination. A distinct few possessed transmutation, Like Prince Anathem and Cecilia. Other possessed types of clairvoyance, domain of Lydia's teaching capabilities. Yet of all the students present, Princess Desdemona was the most unusual. She did not possess any of these powers from the old world, but she had others; she could conjure, she could cast illusions, and possessed the very rare and coveted power of resurgence. Yet John kept a watch on her in particular – he questioned how two parents who possessed some of the Seven Wonders, her father possessing all of them, didn't pass it onto Desdemona. On the last day of the first week of classes in session, once 13:00 came around, he approached her as she was leaving with her brother.

"Your Infernal Highness Desdemona," he called. Her pretty face turned back to look at him, and Anathem was the first to respond with a strange look and a snark verbal reaction.

"Uncle, why are you calling my sister?" he questioned. "Is this some 'see me after class to pass' crap from the old world?"

John sighed, trying to maintain calm at his superior: "no, Anathem. In case you are curious, you may stay for what has to be demonstrated."

"Demonstrated?" Desdemona asked, looking up into her uncle's rather handsome face, in particular his hazel eyes that shone gold at her. He took her hand and led her away from her brother, smiling at her.

"My dear niece," he said with a smirk, "both of your parents, being King and Queen, are _immensely_ powerful, your father more so than your mother if I do say so myself. They possess some of the same powers, and they passed some of them to your brother." Anathem just watched him interact with his sister with a watchful eye, listening to what was said.

"Okay… so?" Desdemona asked skeptically.

"You, my dear, don't possess any of the classical Seven Wonders. Given who we are descended from," John continued, "you should possess at least one or two."

"And… _what_ are they?"

"Uncle John, you're wasting your time," Anathem snapped, approaching his sister and grabbing her hand. "She doesn't know, she's _inept_."

John had just about had enough of the bratty Prince and his interference: "you can leave, and I suggest you do before I tell your _father_ how badly you are behaving."

Anathem was baffled and nearly guffawed from what he just said. He was the Prince, in line to be King one day, held above all reproach in the world along with his sister. John was a mere Archduke only given the title due to blood relation. His eyes narrowed at his uncle, and he let out a rather pathetic tantrum for someone who looked like a grown young man.

"Are _YOU_ giving _ME_ _orders_?!" he shouted in a roar, his hair getting messy as he stomped his foot against the floor. "Wait until my father, His Infernal Majesty hears about the _disrespect_ you are giving me! _You_ should be kissing _MY_ shoes! I'm in line to be King, not YOU!"

Desdemona, offended by what he said, was about to say something to her brother, but John beat her to the chase. Using concilium, their uncle raised his finger in the air directed toward the Prince, who froze in place, unable to escape as he listened to every word spat at him.

"You listen to me, you little _brat_. You will show me _respect_. I am your elder. Didn't your father teach you any manners?!" John's voice was eerily calm for someone so irritated. "Prince or not, you are still _equal_ to everyone else, and if I hear that you've made up some stupid lie or made-up story about what happened here, may Satan at your right-hand stand. Do you under- _fucking_ -stand me?!"

Anathem didn't answer, looking indignantly down at his uncle, who repeated himself.

"Do you understand me?!"

"Yes, Uncle John." He was completely subdued, wowing Desdemona, who approached her uncle's side and narrowed her eyes and focus on her brother, who was released from his magic and turned to walk away. She shouted with intent, her fists at her sides.

"And I AM NOT INEPT!"

It looked as though Anathem was sent a few feet forward before landing face-first into the floor, creating a loud thud as a groan came from his body. The lights above them in the Grand Hall flickered on and off for a few seconds, catching John's attention as he watched his niece and nephew's facial reactions to what just happened. Anathem looked to be shaking in his boots as he turned back painfully to look at his sister, whose jaw dropped immensely. He rose to his feet and left by way of transmutation, but Desdemona was frozen in place by what just happened.

"I…I didn't do that," she said with denial.

"Yes, you did," John smiled. "Don't lie to yourself."

"I'm not lying to myself. I just can't do that stuff," Desdemona snided.

"You can. You have telekinesis. This is exactly what I was talking to you about. It is one of the classical powers in the Seven Wonders," he said, looking down at her and smiling. "You were provoked to anger, which triggered your reflexes. That happened to me when I found out I had pyrokinesis." He paused. "Except… I misused it when I was young and dumb."

"How so?"

"I was a bully, and a brutal one at that," John said. "I bullied your father before he even came into his power and claimed the throne." He started to circle around his niece as he spoke. "I paid dearly for my misdeeds."

"H-How?"

"He killed me," John said, stopping in front of her and staring down into her feline blue eyes. "He brought me back a week later. I had seen _horrible_ things… Lucifer punished me down in Hell, too. From then on, I knew I had to change my ways."

Desdemona looked away, down at the floor and averting her gaze from meeting that of her uncle's. It was only then that she felt his fingers tilt her chin up to meet his gaze again. She felt strangely at ease as he spoke.

"I want you to pick something in this room, anything," he instructed, "and I want you to bring it into your hand. Do you remember what I showed you upon my return?"

Desdemona's eyes were full of wonder: "I… I do."

"Good. Do what I did, but with the object you select," he said, backing away from her.

Desdemona looked around the Grand Hall for something easy to telekinetically take into her hand. She could have taken one of the small paintings depicting satanic art off the wall, but she decided not to. John waited patiently for her to pick something to practice with, and then he saw that her eyes diverted to the closed, glass-door wall cabinet that contained two very important relics to Regnum Infernale – the King's Blade, used for executions and sacrifices, and the Queen's Sickle, once owned by Misty to harvest the bounty that once existed in its full effect in the sanctuary. She concentrated and the door to the side with the mounted knife and it slowly opened, making John stare in awe.

"Yes…" he said to himself with approval. "But…" He took a step forward, "are you sure you want to take _that_ into your hand, Dessi?"

She looked at him: "I sent my brother a few feet ahead in the air and made him fall, I just opened the cabinet door. I _think_ I can handle a knife, thank you."

"Be careful," he said. "Focus on the _handle_. Raise your hand, have it open, and be ready to collect it."

She did as told, looking at the knife as she outstretched her hand, ready to collect her item of focus. She furrowed her brow a little to concentrate, using all of her will to take the knife off its mounting in the cabinet and into her grip. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, but the moment she opened them, she was gasping in severe pain and wheezing. She looked down and saw that the nine-inch blade was embedded in her upper left chest, running her through. As she felt her consciousness start to leave her body, John hurried to her side and held her, trying to keep her stable and conscious.

"Stay with me!" she heard him say with fuzzy hearing, "stay with me!"

He nearly panicked as she began to spit blood in her final breaths, and her feline blue eyes looked dead and cold, staring off into space. John bit his lower lip, nearly starting to sob at what just happened. Desdemona was merely a girl, only four and a half years old but near the full blossoming that came with womanhood. He knew he had to do something, so in a panic he laid her down flat on the floor and put a hand on her chest with the other hand holding the knife's handle. He made a mental count from one to three as he ripped the knife out of her chest, putting it aside and putting both hands over the wound that was spilling blood. He felt a presence in the room and looked around, seeing Lydia standing at one of the doorways near the stage of the Grand Hall.

"John…" she said with distress. "What happened here?" That was when she rushed over to his aid, and he looked up at her, holding one of his bloodied palms toward her.

"You need to get help, right now, Lydia! _Don't_ fuck around, the King could have my _head_ for this!" he shrieked.

"What did you do?!" she shouted. "That's the Princess!"

"NO SHIT!" he shouted. "GET HELP _NOW!"_

* * *

Elijah had a horrible feeling, and he instinctively put a hand to his chest, feeling a strange pain near his heart. He took a deep breath and looked around, having stared into the fire in the fireplace as he felt Anathem's presence walk into the suite. His steel blue eyes looked at his son with a mixture of intense worry and fear, but all Anathem could sense was the notion that his father could kill someone out of rage.

"Anathem," he began sternly, "where is your sister?"

He looked around, dumbfounded and he shrugged gingerly as to not provoke his father in what he sensed to be an extremely volatile state. He also was still under John's concilium: "I… don't know, actually. She isn't here, at home?"

"Don't play dumb!" his father exclaimed, raising his hand and telekinetically launching him against the now-closed front door and holding him there. "You LEFT with her! Where is she? Why do I have a feeling she's _dead_ somewhere?!"

"I don't know, Father! Please, let me go! I swear, I don't know," he said with fear in his voice.

Elijah released his son and approached him, his glacial glare looking into his light blue eyes as he spoke again: "don't play games. You _know_ where she is…"

"What is the meaning of all this?" a feminine voice boomed. Elijah looked to see it was Melanie, her brow furrowed with frustration. Anathem looked at his mother and shook his head, nearly tearing up from how afraid his father made him.

"He just pinned me to the wall because somehow, someway, Dessi isn't home, and he's blaming me," he whined.

Melanie's eyes widened, and she looked at her consort with shock: "where is she?"

"I had this pain in my chest just now, I can't explain it," Elijah replied, "but I think something is _very_ wrong. I know _he_ is hiding _something_."

Melanie looked at her son and tried to pry into his thoughts. Curiously, she read him thinking: _I don't even remember what I had for lunch. Was it… geez, what was it? All I know is, my knees and back kill from that._

"Why do your knees and back hurt, Anathem?" she asked. Elijah was confused at this, but she was using her defining power, lectio animo, to extract the truth.

"I… I don't know _what_ Dessi did, but she lifted me up and sent me a few feet ahead face-first into the floor. It hurts," he groaned with a grimace. "She was asked to stay with Uncle John-"

"WHAT?!" Elijah shouted. "I do not want that dirty mutt to-"

" _Elijah_! Shut up!" Melanie shouted back at him. "He is smart enough to know that you'd kill him if he ever laid a hand on her." She paused, looking at Anathem. "Go to her room and get me one of her belongings, something she uses all the time."

He went without hesitation and used transmutation to go back to where they were once he found something. He handed it to his mother; it was one of her bras, hanging over the seat of her desk, and once she held it, Elijah put his arm around her. He could see tears deluging his Queen's eyes, but she was having dreadful visions. One was of her daughter, dead and lifeless on a hospital gurney with a gaping, bloody hole in her chest. Then she got a flash-like vision of John Vanderbilt with tears in his eyes, shaking his head rapidly as a doctor seemed to be speaking to him.

* * *

"She is dead, sir."

That was all John could hear from the doctor, who was still speaking to him. He was never a man to cry, but this was enough to rip his heart in two. Desdemona was so young and full of life; plus, she was the Princess of all people. Partially, he cried due to fear. He knew that if Elijah got the wrong idea about this whole thing, his heart would be on a platter or much worse. Of course, he hadn't feared death, having died twice in his day. He was more afraid of how this would pan out.

"I do not know if… you have the authority to be here and classify her for Disposal or-"

"Yes," he stood up, speaking with intention. "I _do_ have authority to determine that. I say she remain put until Their Infernal Majesties arrive."

"Yes sir," the doctor said, subdued under his will before walking off.

At that moment John could sense a strong presence, and he stood up, ready to face the music knowing full well it was Elijah, Melanie, and Anathem behind them in a single file line to where Desdemona lay dead on the gurney. He took a deep breath as Elijah completely ignored his presence, while Anathem approached his uncle with a confused look. Melanie was sobbing, joining Elijah in the hospital room where Desdemona was laying.

"…how did she _die_ , Uncle John?" he asked.

"I can explain," he began. "H-Her telekinesis… killed her."

"So, she _does_ have some useful powers…" Anathem pondered sarcastically, nodding.

"This is serious," John snapped.

"Not nearly as serious as the shit you'll be in with my father when he revives her," the Prince retorted.

 _aHHH…he…AHHH_

Anathem and John peeked into the room to see that Desdemona took her first ounce of air into her lungs since being dead. A loud wheeze took up the room and radiated out into the hallway where they stood. After a few coughing sounds, Desdemona started to whine. John watched Elijah take his daughter into his arms, head against his chest and sigh softly with relief.

"My sweet Princess, you're here now. You're alive again…" Tears nearly fell on her light blonde locks. "I've got you."

"W-Where am I?" she whined, letting her father go and looking up at him. "Where is Uncle John?"

"Never you mind about _him_ ," he said harshly. "What your mother and I need to know, is what exactly happened to you. What did that filthy dog do to you?"

"Father!" she exclaimed. "Uncle John didn't do _anything_! Stop overreacting!"

"How did you die just now, Desdemona?" Melanie asked in a softer tone, running her finger through her daughter's hair.

She sighed, taking a few more deep breaths: "he was trying to teach me about telekinesis… he told me to pick anything in the Grand Hall to send into my hand, and I… I sent Anathem a few feet forward… made the lights flicker I think… I made the cabinet of relics open. I chose the knife, see."

"The King's Knife?" Elijah asked with disbelief.

"Yes… before I knew it, it stabbed me." Desdemona put her hand over the blood-stained part of her chest, where she realized that below the fabric, the wound healed over entirely with her father using vitalum vitalis. "It's… gone. Healed over."

Elijah sighed: "so… it was _John_ who taught you this?"

"Yes. H-He didn't mean any harm!" Desdemona exclaimed in his defense. "I know he's out there, outside the door… I see him! Uncle John!" Her call led him to enter the room, but Elijah held his hand up, stopping him dead in his tracks with concilium even stronger than what he possessed himself. John just froze like a statue, his eyes fixed on Elijah.

"You stay away from her if you know what's good for you," he hissed.

"Father! _Please_!" his daughter begged. "Stop it!"

Elijah felt a resistance in his powers, almost as if they were negated the moment that his daughter told him to stop. He was King and, by default, Supreme of the Salem descendants, a powerful warlock on top of his demonic heritage. How could his daughter, only four and a half, be capable of negating such potent powers? John, realizing he was released by this magical maneuver, looked at his niece with shock. _Did she seriously just do that_ , he thought.

"Satis! Enough!" Melanie said, raising her hand and bringing everyone in the room to attention. "Desdemona, we are going home. As for _you_ , John, we will discuss this once she has fully recovered from this horrifying ordeal."

"Yeah, stay away from my daughter," Elijah lashed.

As Anathem walked away with a 'I'm-not-sorry-for-you' face, John shook his head and looked down. _He's out of his mind_ , he thought.

* * *

"Elijah, come to bed."

He had been looking out the window down at the sanctuary below, seeing the imitation of a night sky in the wide, colossal window that provided a degree of light and temperature from the outside world in addition to the mechanisms that regulated all of those things inside. He watched the people down below, talking and walking about in order to get to their suites for the evening. He looked to his Queen, her bright blue eyes shining up at him as she leaned on his shoulder. She was wearing no makeup, and her skin positively glowed with radiance despite her physical age. He was wearing a black silk nightgown, which he turned around and felt the softness of when he put his hands on her hips.

"I will," he said. "I just have so much on my mind, about Dessi."

"She is alive. She's _fine_ ," Melanie said reassuringly as she put her hand on his cheek. He leaned against it and closed his eyes; "do you really think John would harm a hair on her head? He'd be crazy to, after what we put him through those years ago."

Elijah sighed before replying: "he is a _dog_ and will fuck anything that moves. That part has not changed about him. He'll even do his _own_ sister."

Melanie chuckled at the irony of his statement: "I can say the same for you."

As she winked, he shook his head and smiled, wanting to laugh: "that may be true in actuality but… in my mind, you are not my sister. You are my love."

He planted a kiss on her lips before he swiftly carried her bridal style. She gasped at the surprise gesture, and he held her effortlessly until he reached their shared bed in the master bedroom, laying her down first and looking deeply into her eyes. She sighed, caressing his face and then smoothing out the side of his hair with her fingers. He reached to pull the black bedsheets over his Queen; putting her in bed first was something he always did before going in to join her himself.

"Are you comfortable, my Queen?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded. "Thank you."

"No need," he said, kissing her cheek affectionately. "I'm… sorry about earlier. I lost my temper. I was so worried about Dessi."

"I understand," Melanie said, holding his hand, "don't be sorry. I was very saddened by what happened."

"As was I but… Dessi, since the day she was born, I promised myself that I would look over her and protect her, as I read a _good_ father should do. As for Anathem, I did not get the same feeling about him because when he was born, I _knew_ he was strong. It's probably because… Dessi is still so young and innocent and has so much left to learn. I want her to preserve that for as long as she can."

"Well," Melanie began, attentively listening to her consort, "she is growing up, and like our kind does, she is growing up _fast_. We will need to give her the _talk_ at some point."

"I'm not ready for this."

"It may be time. After all, I was younger than she when _my_ father told me," she said to him. "One thing I could praise my father for? He didn't sugarcoat anything."

"I know _one_ thing that's like sugar," he smirked, making lustful eye contact alternating between her eyes and her neck. "It's you…" He leaned down to kiss her neck, which made her moan softly with pleasure. She heard him whisper with ecstatic excitement: "please, let me taste you… let me drink from your fountain of life…"

"Hm… as much as I'd love that," Melanie said, meeting her eyes with his, "I am _very_ tired. You need rest as well."

Elijah bit his lower lip and get beside her in the bed, under the sheets and cuddled up against her, whispering in her ear as he planted a kiss on her earlobe: "you torture me so sweetly… I would leave a kiss on your heart, and one much lower down… much lower…" His voice turned into a purr as he closed his eyes: "I would pepper you with a million kisses as burning as if under the equator."

He opened his eyes to see his very-comfortable Queen had practically drifted off to sleep. He caressed her upper arm with his fingertips, entranced by the softness of her skin as he rested his head back down on the pillow, feeling his soul practically leave his body as he delved into the deepest recesses of sleep.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _Note, what Elijah says toward the end ("_ I would leave a kiss on your heart, and one much lower down… much lower…" _ & "_I would pepper you with a million kisses as burning as if under the equator _") is actually a reference to the love letters Napoleon, French emperor, exchanged with his lover-turned-wife-turned-empress Joséphine._

 _From this point in the story, the real shit starts to happen. Without spoiling too much, next chapter will be exciting! Just wait and see, stay tuned!_


	3. Ch 3 - Visitation

_NOTE: This chapter, until the very end, takes place in Elijah's dream state. This will be a recurring literary device throughout the story. Keep that in mind as you read this chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Visitation**

He suddenly felt the need to wake up, but once he opened his glacial blue eyes, he looked around, taking in the rather peculiar surroundings. He was no longer in the bed he shared with Melanie, his Queen. In fact, he did not know where he was in the slightest. The first thing his eyes caught was the sight of a fireplace burning with full life and force in a hearth surrounded by an intricately-carved frame of white wainscoting. The next thing he saw was a dark-colored coffee table before noticing he was on an antique white sofa. After this, he looked down at his peculiar clothing; he was no longer in sleeping clothes, but rather, a refined black suit with a white dress shirt underneath with a unique black bowtie at the neck and collar. He sat up, furrowing his brow at everything else in the room he could take in down to the smallest detail – above his head was a crystalline chandelier, and to his left were white Roman-styled columns from the floor to the ceiling. In fact, the color white was predominant in the room. The next thing he focused on, which prompted him to rise from his seat, were the various paintings of women on the walls. He put his hands behind his back and clasped them roughly, fixing on them, trying to figure out who they were and why they were so important as to have their portraits done. He walked around, his eyes scanning the walls before he came up to a table with two chairs on the other side of it toward the wall; upon it sat a candelabra with virgin white candles. He went over to it and held the bottom stem while looking at the candles, lighting them without effort by way of pyrokinesis.

When he turned around with the candelabra in hand, he nearly dropped it when he saw that two women were present; the first, a younger woman who looked to be in her late twenties. She had deep-colored eyes, a greenish-hazel, and her hair was long, sleek, and honey blonde. She had high cheekbones, defined eyebrows, red lip stain, and was wearing a long black maxi dress under a studded black leather jacket, a pair of ankle-high spiked heel boots, and around her neck was a chain necklace with studded stars strung along it. Elijah also noticed the strange stick in her hand that emitted smoke, watching her take it to her lips and see smoke also coming from her mouth as well.

"Great, he's awake," he heard her say.

"Just as we intended," the other woman said. This one was older, approaching her mid-seventies. She did not look to be in that age range because her hair was far from gray; it was wild and carrot red. She was dressed even weirder than the blonde, clad in a white fringed shawl with a rose bud print on it which matched the long skirt she was wearing. The shawl was covering what looked to be a pinstripe suit jacket, and on her hands were pleather red fingerless gloves with a strange fringe at the openings on her wrists. She wore exaggerated cat-eye glasses and looked at him. He set the candelabra down and raised his hand in a peaceful way toward the strangers.

"Who are you?" he asked assertively. "I command that you tell me. Where am I?"

"Get off your high horse," the younger blonde said sarcastically, moving a few steps forward. "That shit won't work here."

"How _dare_ you speak to me that way!" he snapped. "I could have you executed for your _disrespect_. I am His Infernal Majesty, King Elijah of Regnum Infernale, and I _demand_ that you answer me."

"You are also one of us," the older one said, her tone debonair and sophisticated. "I never imagined that I'd ever see a _male_ Supreme."

He thought for a moment, the word triggering his memory: "Supreme," he repeated.

"Yes, dear boy," the older woman said, walking up to him. "Your father also came quite close to reigning over the supremacy of the coven, but _you_ made it on your own. You are one of the last in your…what's it…" She thought for a moment, " _kingdom_ , with our blood running through your veins. Our dear Mallory was your mother, and the next Supreme in line had nothing happened the way it did."

"What is your name? This is the _last time_ I will ask," Elijah said as he nearly gritted his teeth, looking at her with a piercing gaze.

"Madison Montgomery," the younger one said. "This is Myrtle Snow, a blast from the past."

"And where am I?"

"Welcome to Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies," Myrtle said, holding her hands out. "We have been a safe haven for witches for a few centuries. In _your_ world, witches are near-extinction, save for Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, the only _pure_ witch left alive."

Elijah looked at the old redhead and narrowed his focus into her eyes: "is my _mother_ here? Is Her Infernal Majesty _the Queen_ also here?"

"You mean _Misty_?" Madison asked.

"Yes, Queen Misty."

"She isn't a Queen," the young witch said. "She's a hillbilly swamp rat."

"She was _my_ Queen as a child. She was consort of King Michael."

" _Forced_ to be consort," Myrtle corrected. "Her spirit was set free upon his un _just_ killing of her that fateful night, when you _conquered_ him because he also killed your sister." She paused. "Who'd ever have thought the inbreeding of Ancient Egypt would find its way back into the world again. The horror!"

Elijah's jaw dropped; "how _dare_ you?! Do _not_ speak of my Queen that way! You may not have bowed to her feet or kissed them, but any words you speak of about her will be those of reverence and _DIGNITY_ , or I will FUCKING destroy every last one of-"

"What is going on in here?" a voice cut in.

Elijah turned to the wide doorway of the room, and saw three more women standing there. The one in the center, significantly taller than the two at her sides, had a powerful presence and a calm, peaceful face framed by blonde hair. Her brown eyes looked young, even though she appeared to be in her mid-forties. She was dressed in all black, a lightweight cloak over a sleeveless gown tied at the base of her neck with an antique brooch. The young woman to her right was of soft, classic beauty with long, straight light brown hair. Her eyes were doe-like, round and russet, and she was clad in a white blouse neatly tucked into a long black skirt with boots on her feet. The woman to the left was unlike anyone he had ever seen in Regnum Infernale; she had very dark skin, and while a distinct few subjects were of dark complexions, this was very different to him. She also was near the obesity level, a red long-sleeve graphic tee stretched over a wide bosom and stomach with black leggings and sneakers. Her hair was black with a few red streaks, and her black eyes narrowed at him.

"Our boy has awoken," Myrtle said.

"Auntie Myrtle, we have been over this," the older woman at the doorway said. "He can _not_ be provoked."

"What happened to all of you? Are you all dead or something?" Elijah question. "Please, tell me what's going on. I still don't quite have an answer."

"We are," the black, large-bodied woman said. "The bombs killed us all."

"We couldn't stop the apocalypse like we were supposed to," the other woman said, her doe-eyes looking at him.

"And _your_ mother, Elijah, was the _key_." The woman in the center between the other two younger woman approached him and took his hand. "I am Cordelia Goode."

"I'm Zoe," the girl with long, straight brown hair said.

"And I'm Queenie," the black one introduced.

"We have _much_ to discuss."

* * *

Elijah sat down in one of the chairs with the back facing the fireplace, while Zoe, Cordelia and Myrtle sat on the sofa. Madison was right next to Elijah in the opposite chair, and Queenie had to pull a seat up to join them. He soon realized that in this place, he was a nobody; his title and status meant absolutely nothing. He was calm, willing to listen to what Cordelia had to say.

"Queenie is correct. We _are_ dead. Our souls are in limbo, but this is better than being trapped in Hell for all eternity," Cordelia said. "Only three witches survived the apocalypse, and went on to live in the new world… _your_ world."

"Technically, only two," Myrtle said. "Recall that Misty Day was already dead when the bombs fell."

"Queen Misty _died_?" Elijah asked. "How?"

"Childbirth," Myrtle said. "She bled to death bringing Melanie into the world. Given what she was, it was not a shock."

"There was a very bizarre beginning to how Misty and Michael united. He was the Alpha warlock from the other coven and underwent the Seven Wonders, passing all of them. During his trial of Descensum, he brought Misty Day back by my request. The poor girl died during her attempt a few years before. Later, he abducted her and took her as his human bride and they married in Hell. He claimed to have loved her, and it seemed Misty was happy for a bit, but we had to strike a deal. She spent six months down there, six months up here. We _refused_ to let her stay down there with him. When she came up that May from Hell, she was heavily pregnant and died very early in the morning the next day giving birth," Cordelia explained. "When the baby was born, she was entrusted into Mallory's care… your mother. We had her take Melanie to a safe place so that Michael could not find her."

"We failed," Zoe added. "He was the Antichrist. He could find _anybody_. He was much too powerful. I remember that day like it was yesterday."

"He promised to leave our coven alone as long as we handed over Melanie, and we had to. Even then, we were not safe. We knew it," the former Supreme expressed.

"I secured spots for two of our witches in an outpost," Myrtle added to their telling of events. "Your mother and Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt."

"We had to protect their identities," Cordelia added, "so that the coven could _survive_. I put them under an identity spell. Coco's personality was based off Madison's."

"Consider it an upgrade from how she _was_ ," Madison added.

"She treated my mother like absolute _shit_ when she was alive," Elijah sternly.

"That is what we need to tell you about, cutting to the chase," Cordelia said. "You see, the plan was to hide away, and once the bombs went off, we would venture to the outpost Mallory and Coco were kept in, and she would perform a magical feat so rare and dangerous that there is barely a record of it ever being performed successfully."

Elijah was intrigued at this, and he looked at Myrtle who said what it was: "tempus infinituum, the very ability to alter time itself. I knew in my bones that she would possess it, and she is the only witch in recorded history to have attempted it and survived."

"She almost died?" he asked.

"Yes." Cordelia paused. "We died in the blasts, and we knew that our plan could not come to fruition. Coco and Mallory… those poor girls lived under the identity spell for _years_."

"My mother died knowing who she was…" Elijah trailed off. "It broke my _heart_ to see that she had hidden her condition from me."

"It wasn't too personal," Myrtle said. "Her soul is at peace now, dear boy. Her power went into you, and therefore you are technically our Supreme… as much as I hate to admit that." She paused. "I knew she had immense power, even when your father was candidate for the supremacy."

"What exactly could she do?" Elijah questioned.

"All of the Seven Wonders," the former Supreme said, "and of course, others. Tempus Infinituum, levitation…"

"She could also reverse death, aging, and injury," Myrtle said. "I can recall one such instance where, I had taken some of our girls to gather herbs for some ratatouille and she evidenced something _most extraordinary_. There was a deer carcass laying around, and she went over to it. She not only brought it back to life, but she reversed its wounds, and it reverted back into a fawn."

"Fawn? Deer?" Elijah asked; he had never experienced seeing either before in the new world. "What are those?"

"Animals, dumbass," Madison snickered.

"He's not dumb, Madison!" Cordelia said sternly. "In the new world, there are barely any animals."

"I remember another time," Queenie recalled, "Coco was testing out this cool new power she developed. She was able to detect calorie amounts in food, or if there was gluten present, and I remember," she and Zoe started to giggle, "we had gotten a TON of food out for her to use. We had to look up on our phones the correct amounts of calories to verify that what she was saying was true. I had a snack cake and gave her some, and she choked to death." She paused, and let Zoe tell the rest of the story.

"So, Mallory was also there, and we were trying to solve the problem and make her stop choking. None of us knew the Heimlich maneuver, so she died from choking. Mallory seemed to invent a spell to help; she used telekinesis to make an incision in her throat with minimal bleeding and remove the piece of cake lodged in her throat. After, she used injury reversal to seal it up, and she was alive. She revived Coco without resurgence or…anything we'd ever seen before."

"During her trials of the Seven Wonders, she used death reversal to bring back a brother warlock who had been burnt alive, reduced to ashes. She conjured a fire and from that fire, John Henry Moore sprung back to life," Cordelia said. " _I_ had never witnessed anything like that." She paused. "The fact that we burnt his killer at the stake is also why he hated us so much."

"Also," Zoe said, "there was a time I was teaching some students how to enchant roses to stay a certain color. I made mine red, and all of the students managed to change theirs, but Mallory made hers blue and the petals flew off the stem. They turned into _butterflies_. I had never seen anything like it."

"It was like whatever magic she did," Myrtle added, "she took it three steps further than any of us could ever be capable of."

Elijah was dumbfounded – how could all of this be hidden by some identity spell? Furthermore, as powerful as they were making his mother out to be, how could Mallory have _not_ suspected she was under any spell at all? If anything, she was on the same level as Michael power-wise. He even pondered on what it would be like if his mother was Queen when he was a child – after all, she was more than fit for the part.

"There were some weird times when I was younger," he disclosed pensively, "where weird things happened around my mother. She would cook and the flames on the stove would be _very high_ , and she didn't know why. I didn't either, at the time. On the occasion of my Queen's eighth birthday, she was a Princess then, we did not have much to give as an offering at her festivities. I saw my mother do this _thing_ with some roses she picked from the Queen's gardens. I watched her, and I asked what it was she was doing and all she said was 'I don't know."'

"It's like she had some vague memory of her magic," Madison proposed.

"If only I could learn to do that for myself, so I can gift them to my Queen," Elijah said with a smile. "I'll never forget how she looked at them when I gave them to her, the first time we met."

"You said she was eight?" Madison asked. "You're like thirty, that's nasty."

"I am _not_ thirty. I am ten. We do not age the same as you _humans_ do," he said rather condescendingly, looking at Madison. "We age three times as fast, we are immune to all disease, we have an advanced healing factor, by the looks of it we can inbreed with close relatives and not experience many adverse effects, and we possess powers far beyond what most humans are capable of, including _your kind_." Elijah smirked indifferently. "Soon, our demonic race will inherit the Earth, but by the looks of it, it already has."

"Elijah, with all due respect, but that is _against_ the natural order," Cordelia challenged. "In fact, you are the key to undoing all of this mess."

"Mess?" He rose to his feet and looked down at her. "What do you _mean_? Nothing is a mess. The new world is _near perfect_! My Queen lived in the old world briefly and could tell me so many things that were _wrong_ with society, and how much _hypocrisy_ was present within it. It sickens me to even ponder on the idea of going back and changing things. People died of diseases, starved to death, fought and killed millions of _innocent_ people in meaningless wars, governments were systematically corrupt and separated the masses by a variety of things, and-"

"You don't do those things in _your_ society, dear boy?" Myrtle asked with a glare. "You make demon children walk around with red paint on their eyes to signify their status and you deprive the majority human population of an education, but you give education to the demon children. You and your family live in the lap of luxury while anyone below you is expected to _obey_ your absolute power. Woe be unto _any_ man, woman or _child_ who dares challenge your _rule_. To top it off, you practically have a worldwide slaughterhouse full of people to choose from for your _barbaric_ sacrifices you hold in private with your demon cronies."

"Chaos has won," Elijah said in response. "The original purpose of the eye paint for demon spawn is to cut down on incest, as we don't entirely know how it affects our kind save for what we have readily observed. We know it wreaks _havoc_ in human bloodlines, but we have yet to see if it affects us as badly. So far, it doesn't seem like it does; my children are in perfect health and shape, for example." He continued on, "and yes, we do have absolute power and _infernal_ right to rule the world, granted to us by our father, the First King, and our creator. Satan is our creator, and he is ever-present, like it or not." He paused. "I don't _have_ to explain to you how our great kingdom works, but it is a much better world than what you lived in. As much as I hated what our father did to my Queen and the Queen before her, I admired his sense to wipe the slate clean and start anew, and rid the world of its problems."

The witches all looked at each other and shook their heads with disbelief. Elijah seemed so brainwashed by the new world, at least to how they understood it. There were so many unspeakable things allowed in Regnum Infernale that the old world would frown upon, and the overall state of the world had been reduced to small worlds in bubbles in three spots scattered in the former United States. What sort of existence was that?

"Why don't you make like Michael and bring us back?" Madison asked, looking into Elijah's eyes. "Your father did it for us before. Why can't _you_?"

"I couldn't, and probably _wouldn't_ ," he said, walking out of the room with the witches following him. He looked to be approaching the front door, which opened and let a bright light shine through. Yet, through the blinding radiance he could hear a voice: _"wake up… wake up…"_

* * *

"Elijah? Wake up…"

Melanie was trying to shake him awake, and when he opened his eyes to see his Queen standing above him, he jolted up and held her, resting his head on her abdomen. She stroked his dark hair softly as he breathed heavily, trying to compose himself from the vivid dream he had.

"How long was I asleep?"

"It's nearly 13:30," Melanie told him. "It isn't like you to sleep this late."

"Oh, I'm _so sorry_ , my Queen." His voice was practically a whine as he nuzzled into her abdomen with his cheek. "I won't do it again!"

"Don't be sorry," she said, sitting by his side and holding his hand. "Are you feeling alright?"

His glacial blue eyes met her bright ones and he shook his head: "I had the _strangest_ dream, my Queen."

"Of?"

"I was in this place… met with the _utmost_ disrespect by these women who told me about my mother and what she was capable of… and… about going in time?"

"Aw…" Melanie nodded, caressing his cheek. "It was just a dream, I can assure you."

"It felt so _real_. Everything… Miss… _Robicheaux's_ Academy…"

"What?" Melanie knew that title; it was the very house she was born in those years ago. "Did you just say…"

"Yes, that's where it was. There was a badly dressed redhead, a bitchy blonde, another blonde who seemed the wisest of them all, and a really large dark girl…" His description was vague, but he shook his head. "Just… weird."

"Well," her hand caressed his softly, "Anathem took Dessi to the Cooperative branch to participate in that study today after their lessons. Isla's study, that is."

He jerked up and looked at his consort: "wait, Dessi… is she okay?"

"Yes, Elijah. She is fine, she woke up in good spirits," she replied with a smile. "You should bathe and get dressed."

"Yes, my Queen," he said obediently.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _A special Christmas update! I was going to do this tomorrow, but I felt like it today! Hope you are all enjoying your holiday. Yes, the coven has made a return!_


	4. Ch 4 - Nearer My God to Thee

**Chapter 4: Nearer My God to Thee**

Anathem and his sister stood in a formation line with all fifteen of the other demon spawn in the sanctuary in the Cooperative agency branch. Two androids were present to make the current process move along faster, the process in which they identified themselves and signed a form to consent to the study Isla Fitzgerald was conducting on them. Desdemona was standing right next to Cecilia, the short-haired blonde girl she had seen at the Azazel Academy. Her platinum tresses were tousled, and she was clad in all black – a turtleneck and a pair of pants that were form-fitting and matched. She physically looked to be eighteen or nineteen, about the same age as Anathem. The Princess' attention was caught by her because she glanced to her side, almost afraid to make eye contact with her relative much higher in status than she.

"Can I help you?" asked Desdemona.

"Oh, I…uh… never mind." _I'm really looking at her brother,_ Cecilia thought to herself. "Your Infernal Highness." She bowed informally and faced forward.

"You didn't answer my question. I'll ask again… can I help you?" the Princess demanded.

"I…" Cecilia looked over at the Princess and leaned in. "I am really just looking at His Infernal Highness, your brother." She paused, and her dark hazel eyes turned dreamy. "His hair is gorgeous, fine as silk. It would be an absolute _honor_ to comb it."

Anathem rolled his eyes, hearing every word: "you whisper like thunder. I could hear every word. You are not going anywhere _near_ my hair."

Cecilia's eyes widened and she shook her head: "I'm sorry, Your Infernal Highness, I just-"

"I _hate_ women…" Anathem mused, looking at her as though she were a piece of dog poop on the side of a walkway in summertime heat. "Don't think you have a chance at becoming _Queen_."

"Don't be such a brat!" Desdemona exclaimed. She then looked to her relative and rolled her eyes: "he's a _bratty_ Prince."

Cecilia just giggled at the sentiment, but she was met with a contemptuous glare from the Prince, who was approached by one of the two androids; it was in the form of a female, humanoid, with tan flesh and her dark hair in a bun. In fact, anyone who did not know about androids would think she was an ordinary human. She came with a clipboard and adjusted the pages under the clip before bowing to her royal superiors and speaking.

"Your Infernal Highnesses," she began. "I have been specifically instructed to pull you both aside, as well as…" She looked at Cecilia. "Your name please?"

"Cecilia Blackwell."

"Age?"

"Six."

"Date of birth?" The android Cooperative associate was writing all of this down on the slip of paper, and Cecilia answered.

"April 4, 2027."

"Parentage?"

"Look, don't you have all of this information?" asked Cecilia with minor irritation in her voice.

"We need you to confirm it for us." She repeated herself in a monotone: "parentage?"

Cecilia rolled her eyes and made a huffy breath: "John Vanderbilt and Lydia Blackwell, Archduke and Archduchess of the House of Langdon."

"Pure-blooded demon. Please go with Their Infernal Highnesses."

Cecilia nodded, but all three took turns signing the form before heading off into the direction that the associate pointed in. Anathem rolled his eyes, but Cecilia seemed to pierce into his thoughts effortlessly to find out what he was thinking: _ugh, damn peasant is just like us. Who'd have thought_?

"Where are we going?" Desdemona asked the associate.

"The third room to the left."

When they reached the destination, a woman with long, sleek black hair came out. She was rather tall and looked very intimidating, dressed in a black lightweight trench coat over a red midi-dress. The one feature that drew them in and scared them at the same time were her abnormally-large blue eyes staring right at them, framed halfway with the demonic red eyeshadow all spawn were required to wear. She looked at the three and smiled a half smile, barely showing teeth.

"Ah, Desdemona, Anathem, Cecilia… just who I needed to see."

"Hi, Aunt Isla," Desdemona said. "Can you maybe tell us why _we_ were separated from the rest of Satan's children?"

"Because you are all _special_. You three are the _only_ pure-blooded demons in all the world with a physical body," Isla replied. "I'll be conducting interviews with each of you after a physical examination with a physician from the Clinic who has appeared here today for that sole purpose. Who would like to go first?"

"I will," Cecilia volunteered.

"And so, you shall."

* * *

Cecilia and Desdemona were relatively easy to interview, as they cooperated a lot better. All of them had physical examinations complete with blood work and tests for visual and auditory acuity. The process took roughly two hours. During Anathem's interview, however, he was nothing but a brat. He walked into the room as though he were entitled, like a King reigning before his tenure, and he slouched back in the chair with his legs open and his arms crossed across his chest. Isla sighed and smiled with a bow of her head.

"Alright, Anathem… are you ready?"

"I hope there's no stupid questions because I _will_ leave."

"They are investigative," Isla said, looking on the paper before her and tapped a button on a small recording device under the table. "First one. Do you think it is ever okay to bear false witness or lie?"

"Only if it's needed," Anathem said. "Not like Dessi, though. She lies so much, her tongue is loose. Our parents like her more than me. It's disgusting. _I'm_ going to be King." He paused. "Except if someone like _you_ lies to _us_ royals, you will face harsh consequences."

"Next question," Isla said as she finished. "What does morality mean to you?"

"Nothing. It's bullshit, one of the many lies and hypocrisies of the old world," Anathem said haughtily. "Morality, as a concept, was intended to keep humans in their place."

"Agreed," Isla said, "next is, if you see someone in need of food or shelter, is it your obligation to help them?"

" _Fuck no_!" Anathem exclaimed. "If I had it my way, I'd make their heart the first human heart I eat. It is _their_ obligation to serve me in that way, as their sovereign."

Isla nodded, not one bit disturbed by his callousness: "what is your opinion on suicide?"

"Let them do it," he said.

"And if they want you to _help_ them take their life?"

"That's even _more_ pitiful," Anathem laughed, haughtily guffawing. "I wouldn't. I'd let them suffer all the more until they gave in to their petty feelings."

"I see…" Isla said, looking down at the paper, "if you were to deliberately sabotage a piece of machinery so that the next person who uses it is severely injured, would you be responsible for those injuries?"

"No. You check the fucking thing first before you use it," Anathem reasoned. "Humans are such idiots."

"Let's turn the tables in the question and hypothetically put one of _our_ kind in the equation using that machine?"

"Is that a jab?" Anathem glared at her.

"No. It is a question. Please answer," Isla asked.

"In case you haven't noticed, most of our kind has some kind of divination or clairvoyant ability to foresee these things. Humans cannot. We wouldn't be that dumb to use something broken or interfered with," Anathem answered.

Isla inhaled through her nose and asked the next question in the queue: "what is humanity's ultimate goal?"

"Are you seriously asking _me_?" he questioned. "The ultimate goal of humanity is to die off and let our race take over."

Isla almost shook her head; did he really have a hatred for humans even though they made up the majority of the entire world? "Is that what you really think?"

"That _or_ they will interbreed with our race, and die off that way. There will be no more pure humans left, anywhere," Anathem smirked. "Uncle John is doing a _killer_ job with that process. Human women feel _gnawing_ pain and bleed to death giving birth to spawn. I just wish my _fucking sister_ would stop sensing their deaths and bringing them back!"

Isla turned off the device under the table and folded the sheet of paper in half. She sighed and looked at her nephew: "that will be all. Thank you for participating. If you could come back within two days, I'd appreciate that. Next is observational."

"I see," Anathem said, standing up and walking toward the door to see Cecilia and Desdemona standing there, laughing and talking. He approached Desdemona and took her by the arm.

"What are you two bitches laughing at?"

"Not such foul language, Anathem," his sister said. "We can go home, now."

"I know, I'm taking you. Tell your little _friend_ goodbye."

Desdemona raised her eyebrows at Cecilia, who laughed and waved at her as she was taken off by her brother out of the agency branch.

* * *

Two days later continued the experiments on demon spawn. Isla made sure all of the blood samples and test results were ready to analyze as soon as possible; there were seventeen demon spawn and seventeen humans as a control group to compare any results to. Compared to humans, demons had much better visual and auditory acuity. Comparing the blood samples, there was evidence that demons had a near-perfect immunity against diseases that often afflicted and even killed humans. Although with the apocalypse, most of the sufferers of chronic disease had been wiped out in the blasts, but those remaining still could get the occasional cold. In the samples of the pureblooded demons Anathem, Desdemona and Cecilia, they found nothing wrong with their blood. They were persons of interest in the studies because they all were products of incest, something that affected human genetics very badly. All three, according to their results, were in perfect health and were even stronger in immune capabilities than even half or quarter demons.

Another interview, regarding their powers and abilities, was conducted by Isla, and there was an observational part of the day as promised. As for the second interview, Isla found that the most common powers amongst demonic spawn were telekinesis, divination and pyrokinesis. This was concluded using the classical Seven Wonders as a model. A few of them, like Desdemona, only possessed one but along with rarer powers. All seventeen demon spawn were escorted to a plain, white-on-white room with rows of chairs set up and a projector with a screen. On the wall was a mirror which was actually a one-sided window, through which Isla and two associates observed reactions to what was shown. They opted to show the classical horror film _The Exorcist_ , a staple from the old world. During the juiciest scenes of the film, the demon spawn could not help but laugh until their sides hurt. Isla observed that Anathem, Cecilia and Desdemona laughed the most and the hardest, to the point they could not breathe.

"MY SIDES! MY SIDES!" Anathem howled, particularly at the scene where Regan is stabbing herself in the nether regions with a metal cross. Most everyone in the room laughed when Regan uttered under her possession to the priests exorcising her: " _your mother sucks cocks in Hell_!" Even Isla behind the one-sided window had to refrain from laughing so hard.

When the film was shown to the control group of seventeen humans, they all were extremely disturbed, covering their eyes with fear and emotional distress. The same reaction came from the humans when the next two films were shown, _Human Centipede_ and _Cannibal Holocaust_ , two of the most abhorred films from the old world for their extreme gore and disturbing themes. The former of these films made some humans from that group throw up, but for the demons, it provided even more amusement. In fact, _Cannibal Holocaust_ , watched in its entirety, seemed to provoke a hunger response. Isla granted the demon spawn group food consisting of raw goat pluck; heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, and entrails. This day of Isla's studies of demon spawn compared to humans lasted the entire day into the evening.

The last of the studied conducted included something a bit risky, and took place two days after the second session. The demon spawn were asked to stand in a room together, which happened to be the same room as the movies were shown in. Isla, behind the one-sided window, put on heavy-duty headphones before playing a piece of music. At first the demon spawn were a little confused and looked at each other. Anathem started to scream at the top of his lungs when the lyrics played; an a capella contralto with a haunting vibrato:

" _Alas, and did my Saviour bleed?_

 _And did my Sovereign die?_

 _Would he devote that sacred head_

 _for sinners such as I?_ "

"NO!" he shouted with extreme hatred, feeling his ears pierce as though he had knitting needles ramming into his ear drums. "COVER YOUR FUCKING EARS!"

"MY EARS ARE BLEEDING! HELP ME!" another demon spawn screamed, trying to block his ears but only having them covered in small splotches of blood that dripped from his ear canal. "SAVE ME! I PROUDLY SIN!"

The music continued to play, to the last verse of the archaic Christian hymn:

" _Well might the sun in darkness hide,_

 _And shut its glories in_

 _When God, the mighty maker died,_

 _For His own creature's sin_ …"

Desdemona, by this point, was huddled in a far corner of the room, crying as she felt blood dripping from her ears. Some even got on her straight light blond locks, but all she cared about was when the music stopped. Anathem was too busy to care about his sister in the corner because he felt not only blood from his ears, drowning out the screams of the relatives around him, but from his eyes as the next song started to play:

" _Nearer, my God, to Thee,_ _  
_ _Nearer to Thee;_ _  
_ _E'en though it be a cross_ _  
_ _That raiseth me,_ _  
_ _Still all my song shall be_ _  
_ _Nearer, my God, to Thee,_ _  
_ _Nearer, my God, to Thee,_ _  
_ _Nearer to Thee_ …."

That was it; one of the demon spawn simply snapped and raised her hand to the mirror side of the one-sided window and used telekinesis to smash it into large and small shards, and once they all saw that Isla, half-demon herself with headphones over her ears, with two associates by her side, they all flew into fits of rage, save for Cecilia and Desdemona, who watched the horror ensue as they witnessed all of them grab large shards of the broken mirror and struggle to open the door that led into the little observation room. Anathem looked at the locked door knob and effortlessly opened it, letting everyone in so that they could have their vengeful attack on the cornered-in Isla and the two associates. The half-demon woman knew that she messed up. _Big time_.

"Wait! I'll turn it-"

"Too fucking late!" Anathem shouted gruffly, turning to address the rest of the demonic spawn. "Get them!"

It was a wonder how all seventeen demons fit into the small room, but it was manageable. There was a huge mess everywhere as they all took the shards of glass and stabbed the associates to death. They turned out to be androids, so the white fluid that took the place of blood got all over them. In addition to this, the parts of the shards that served as handles for the makeshift knives cut their fingers and palms and added their own blood into the strange mix. Anathem glared at Isla, who tried to use concilium to stop the Prince from attacking her, but before she could, he used transmutation to get closer to her and made a swift, clean slash across her throat, successfully severing her jugular and carotid. He watched the life leave her frightening, large blue eyes before going down to take his fury out on her fresh corpse, stabbing and penetrating as much as he could of her torso with the glass he was holding in his hand. He was growling like a wild beast, blood still emanating from his ears as _Nearer My God to Thee_ kept playing. In fact, the song seemed to fuel their desire to kill and maim even more.

Desdemona remained crying in the corner, even though she vaguely made out a cloaked specter out of the corner of her eye, laughing maniacally at the scene. Cecilia did not notice it one but, and even tried to help her up and leave the room, which she was successful in doing. The Princess was hysterical, traumatized by what she had just experienced and witnessed; all of her relatives rushing to attack the researchers, including their Aunt Isla. Would her mother and father be upset with this? What if they knew how much distress this part of the study caused them?

"He killed her! HE KILLED HER!" she exclaimed, sobbing.

" _Shhh_ … Your Infernal Highness, it's okay," Cecilia tried to console her.

"NO, IT'S NOT! DON'T YOU GET IT?!" Desdemona screamed, her voice echoing in the hallway. "THAT'S MY PARENTS' JOB, SENTENCING PEOPLE TO DEATH, _NOT_ MY BROTHER! THEY'LL HAVE HIS HEAD!"

"Shh… please, with all due respect…"

"FUCK OFF!"

Desdemona, triggered by her distress, telekinetically launched Cecilia against the wall, creating a loud enough thud to draw the attention of someone walking down the hallway. The other girl whined with discomfort and felt the back of her head. Before the Princess could apologize for her sudden display of power, she looked and saw John, Axel and Hunter standing there with shock. It was not so much what they saw her do to Cecilia, but the fact that they both had blood in their hair and on their skin with trail mark from their ear openings.

"Oh…" John was the first to speak, getting near the Princess with transmutation, who sniffled distressingly up at him. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her feline blue eyes. "What is going on? Why are you bloody?"

"They're dead," Hunter said, staring at the ground.

"Who's dead?" John questioned. Then he thought for a moment, getting an intuitive impression; he got a vision of Isla, horribly mangled and unrecognizable, covered in her own blood. "Oh… shit!"

Desdemona tried to stop her uncle from going into the room with Axel and Hunter: "DON'T! They're angry! They'll KILL you! PLEASE!"

"Oh, please. I helped take down a _King_ more powerful than all of them combined," John confessed with a wink as he walked off into the room.

The sight was brutal – John and the twins stopped, their jaws open when they saw Anathem eating something in his hand through the broken one-sided window. Axel was the first to notice that it was a heart. Meanwhile, John and Hunter noticed that the Christian music was now heavily distorted because one of the spawn broke the stereo from which it was playing connected to the overhead. Some of them were sitting down against the wall, crying, whining or breathing heavily because of the intense rage they channeled into killing the androids. John took a step further and noticed some of their hands were slashed open because they used glass shards as weapons. Anathem, seeing his uncles present, smirked and used transmutation to get out of the little room and closer to them. He held out the half-eaten heart, ripped from Isla's dead body.

"Want a bite?" he offered sinisterly. John noticed his eyes turned completely black.

"No, we _don't_ want a bite, Anathem." His tone said it all. "Put the heart down and come with us."

"Fuck off. Don't ever tell me what do to do, peasant," Anathem sneered. "What did I tell you?"

"What did _I_ tell _you_?" the older half-demon replied, "about showing some respect."

" _I_ am the one you should respect." He took a mouthful of the heart and chewed on it before swallowing the fragments. "I'm not even King yet, and I'm sentencing people to their deaths."

"That is not your job yet. Your parents do that," John replied. "They are not going to be happy."

"Fuck with me more," Anathem growled. "Go ahead! You _will_ be next."

* * *

Meanwhile, Desdemona managed to sneak into Isla's now-former office to try and find the device she used to record the interviews. Cecilia helped out using her clairvoyance skills to get a vision on where it was located. It was quite easy; it was underneath the desk they sat across from her on. It was a device with a touch screen and a button to record, and Desdemona looked down to tap on a file with her brother's identification number, HIH-ANA_122027.

"There it is," she said, calmed down from her episode. She looked at Cecilia, who glared at her.

"You know, that really hurt when you-"

"I'm really sorry, Cecilia. I didn't mean to toss you across the hall," the Princess said. "I just… still cannot believe what happened."

"Me neither. I didn't think they were going to outright _torture_ us," the other girl said.

"I wonder what else Aunt Isla was going to do to us," the Princess pondered, turning her feline blue eyes over to her relative. "Can you maybe-"

"Way ahead of you," Cecilia said, pulling out a file folder labelled _PROCEDURES_.

Desdemona looked over her shoulder, putting the recording device in her pocket as she saw Cecilia's long, graceful fingers look through the many pages within the folder. She pulled out one in particular, black ink on light blue paper that seemed to have a checklist and objectives, but only a few things were checked off because of what just happened. They both read the contents of the list and read them aloud, alternating.

"Feed subjects from both groups offal."

"Feed both groups human meat under the pretenses of it being another offal meat session."

"As if we can't tell the difference," Cecilia uttered.

"I've never had human organs…" Desdemona confessed.

"Eh, me neither, but my mother says she can tell the difference between animal or human meat," her relative said, looking at the checkpoint below it.

"Splash subjects in both groups with Vatican holy water."

"She was trying to kill us," Desdemona said with shock.

"Oh shit…" Cecilia said in regard to the next one, "make incisions on demons and humans to see who heals faster… next says…" She squinted down at it with confusion, "splice demonic DNA for purposes of genetic engineering?"

"Does that say," Desdemona continued, "inject live viruses in both demons and humans and see who is affected." She paused and telekinetically closed the folder, Cecilia looking at her with confusion. "I can't read anymore. In that case, Isla _deserved_ to die. Did she not know that any grievous bodily harm done to a royal can result in a death sentence?"

Cecilia shook her head with disbelief, but through the window on the door, she could see Anathem facing forward and walking, covered in blood. Yet she got the sense that he was under a trance of some sort. This was confirmed when she heard three voices saying at the same time: "move forward and apace," at which the Prince started to run down the hallway as if he were a robot. Desdemona snatched the folder away from Cecilia and held it to her chest, opening the door and seeing John, Axel and Hunter all focused on keeping Anathem subdued under concilium.

"All _three_ needed to get him to do that?" Desdemona whispered.

John held his hand out to Anathem, whose back was turned, still running down the hall: "stop! Turn to face me."

Like a robot, the Prince obeyed him – he was easily a few yards away toward the main lobby of the branch when he heard the command: "run to your suite, tell Their Infernal Excellencies what you have done here. They shall decide what to do with you."

"Yes," Anathem said, his eyes staring dead off into space before obeying the command and leaving the branch.

Cecilia and Desdemona walked toward the three, and John looked visibly anguished and fatigued. His eyes met with those of the Princess, who averted her gaze down and sighed. Cecilia spoke up about her father's state of being in that moment.

"Are you alright, dad?"

"He was a tough one to crack," he replied. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Me neither… but…" Desdemona trailed off. "Not that I _want_ to after what we found, but… is there any chance I could try to bring her back?"

John chuckled without meaning: "you could try, but some of her organs are missing, her head is almost off her body, and she is overall unrecognizable."

"His Infernal Highness must have done a number on her," Cecilia remarked. "Good riddance."

"What is that you have?"

"Shit she was going to do to us," Desdemona said to her uncle.

"What is in there?" Axel questioned. "Specifics."

"Splashing us with holy water, making cuts on us, injecting live viruses…"

"She must have been out of her fucking mind," John pondered. "That's suicide for her to do those things, and with _royals_ in her study as subjects." He paused. "The human subjects would probably die, and we would live, but that isn't the point at all."

"Exactly my point. I don't agree with what my brother did," Desdemona clarified, "but I _do_ agree that she deserved to die for this."

"She _knew_ that music would harm us," Cecilia said, "otherwise why would she have freaking headphones on while it was playing, sitting behind that window?"

"You both need to go home," John said.

"Don't give me orders!" Desdemona snapped. John composed himself and nodded with a deep bow of respect.

"Y-You're right, I am sorry," he said a bit softer. "I just… want you to be safe."

"Not when you're telling me to go home and my parents are going to rip him apart over this," she challenged. Cecilia reached to touch her relative's hand and she spoke softly.

"You can stay with my mother and I?" she offered. "Just for a while, _or_ as long as you wish. Does that make you feel better?"

"I guess I must," Desdemona said. "My father is vicious when he is angry, and _forget_ my mother."

* * *

Anathem's mind was not his own. All he could think about was confessing to his parents what he had done. He was standing there, Melanie and Elijah in front of him with glares on their faces, knowing full well that something was wrong. Elijah had the sense that someone was dead aside from the very-obvious coating of blood on his son, while Melanie pried into his soul with lectio animo. All she could sense was, _I've done something horrible_.

"What did you do?" she grunted.

"Please tell me you didn't kill your sister," Elijah said, his piercing eyes scaring him to spit the truth out even more than the concilium was.

"I didn't kill Desdemona. _That_ little bitch is alive," Anathem said in almost a monotone. "I killed Isla Fitzgerald."

Elijah's jaw dropped as he resisted the urge to save his magic and instead choke him out against the wall: "WHY?!"

"Because she committed a crime against my sister and I."

"Which is…?" Melanie asked.

"Grievous bodily harm. Possibly attempts to do worse after what happened." Anathem did not know where the last part came from, but he was not wrong. "She put us in a room and made us all listen to a song about a false savior who died for our sins."

"Lies," Melanie said, "Jesus Christ didn't exist, or if he did, he didn't die for someone's sins!" She blocked her ears and whined, Elijah putting an arm over her for comfort as he winced at the words: "my ears hurt."

"Don't say those fucking words ever again," Elijah ordered harshly. "Satan is our creator. We are all his spawn, through our Father, the First King."

"I am aware." Anathem proceeded to describe what happened. "Someone broke the glass, we all took large shards, and we stabbed the android associates before I killed Isla myself. I ate her heart. It was _very_ tasty…" He felt the concilium wearing off. "I feel _fucking_ rejuvenated!"

Melanie looked at her consort and sighed, biting her lower lip with contempt before speaking: "you do not have our crown yet, Anathem. You cannot just sentence people to their deaths without our prior judgement."

"I'm not going to rely on _you_ for _everything_ ," her son spat. "She caused us harm, I fucking ended the suffering."

Melanie read Elijah's thoughts clear as say as there was a silence between the three: _I fear the day he takes our place. I just hope he shapes up before then. He could kill hundreds at his mercy_. She turned to her son and ordered him, a finger pointed to him as she inched closer to him: "we have Black Mass later tonight. Get yourself cleaned up, get dressed, and meet us out here by 22:00. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mother," he relucted.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _I wanted to give a special shoutout to the following users, who were also around for the first two stories in this trilogy - **Winchestergirl123** (also, check out her stories, they're really good if you like_ _American Horror Story_ ), _**Lex-in-Affex**_ , and **_sheshe073_** **.** _Thank you for your reviews and support as well as your ideas!_

 _Leave a Review, and be sure to Favorite and Follow if you are enjoying this story! Stay tuned!_


	5. Ch 5 - Black Sabbath

_NOTE: Contains explicit content, discretion is advised!_

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Black Sabbath**

Desdemona accompanied Cecilia and her mother, Lydia, that evening to the Black Mass being held in the Grand Hall. She did not want to go with her family after what happened, but considering Lydia's status as Archduchess, she was given a higher seat than most people, adjacent to the royals where she herself would sit. She had freshened up just enough to get rid of the blood from her hair and skin from the music earlier, and still wore the same clothing. Lydia, upon reaching the Grand Hall, looked to the Princess with concern.

"Are you sure you don't want to sit with _us_ , Desdemona?" she questioned. "I could explain to your mother, Her Infernal Majesty, why you were with us."

"Mom, I'm sure she already knows. She's the Queen," Cecilia interfered.

"I must sit with them. I'll be just fine," Desdemona said morosely. "Thank you for having me this afternoon."

"You're most welcome," Lydia said, her palm gently grazing her niece's cheek before walking off.

Desdemona was left alone, looking around at the relatively well-dressed populous that came to attend the ceremonies of the late evening hours. She sighed, and felt a presence behind her. She turned to look, and it was a mysterious, black-cloaked figure showing nothing but a gray, emaciated face covered by a hood. It unnerved her, but it started to speak to her in a hoarse voice.

"You must find your family," he said to her, "and sit with them. Join them in your worship of me."

"Who are you? What were you doing at the Cooperative branch today? I saw you, you were-"

"Dessi," she heard, "who are you talking to?"

Past the shoulder of the mysterious specter, she could see her mother, dressed in a red satin evening gown with Elijah at her side, clad in black with a red cape, as well as Anathem, clad in a red suit. Melanie came up to her daughter and shook her head at her attire, which was rather casual for something like a Black Mass. They were royals, and expected to look as such.

"Where have you been that you haven't vested in _proper_ attire?" she asked her daughter.

"I was with Cecilia and Aunt Lydia. I'm fine, I'm in one piece," Desdemona said insistently.

"Why were you with them?" Elijah asked.

"Because I was. After the day I had, I didn't want to go home." The Princess sounded defiant, and Melanie did not like it one bit.

"Watch your tongue, and remember to whom you are speaking," the Queen instructed crassly. "Back straight, chin up, gait flawless. They all know who you are. Look the part, if you please."

* * *

Before the ritual service could begin, all of the attendants were expected to be in the Grand Hall, but were made to rise in the presence of the royals, who entered the dark, dim hall down the aisle and up the side stairway to the stage to take their seats on their thrones. By their sides were the Lydia, her daughter Cecilia, and then John, accompanied by the twins Axel and Hunter. Down at the base of the stage where the altar was erected was Ashley Campbell, who had been appointed as High Priestess of the Reformed Church of Satan two years before. She was fully robed in crimson satin with a white inverted pentagram embroidered on the front at the chest. Her long, kinky black hair was wild and unkempt, and her dark eyes were highlighted at the inner sockets with bright red eyeshadow. She lit the candles with a match and began the service, raising what looked to be a skull in her hands. Elijah smiled at it smugly, knowing full well whose it belonged to.

"Let us all praise the embodiment of our father Satan, in the skull of the First King!" she announced.

"Hail Satan!" everyone said in unison.

Ashley then took a bell and, at the four cardinal points from where she was standing, she struck it one time at each post, silence overcoming the room as the pitch resonated. She then took what seemed to be the King's Blade and held up all nine inches of it, saying aloud and ceremoniously: " _in nomine de nostris, Satanis, Luciferi excelsi…_ " She paused, keeping her eyes up above the spectators. "In the name of Satan, ruler of the Earth, King of the world, I command the infernal forces of darkness to bestow upon us their power on this night." Her voice elevated in volume: "open wide the gates of Hell! Come forth from the abyss, and greet us your brothers, sisters and friends. Grant us the indulgences of which I speak! We take your name as part of ourselves, and live as the Beast of the fields, rejoicing in the fleshly life. I favor the just… and I _curse_ the rotten! By all of the gods of the pit, I command that those things of which I speak, shall come to pass. Come forth, answer to your names, by manifesting our desires!"

Elijah looked over at his Queen, holding her hand in his and squeezing softly as to not hurt her. She felt her heart flutter, but she could not help but look at Anathem, her son and Prince, to the other side of his father. His face was so solemn, guiltless, and without remorse for what happened earlier. She watched him close his eyes as Ashley continued the ritual opening. She had held out the blade in front of her toward the sky.

"Hear the names! Bast, Samael, Baphomet, Typhon, Dama, Mephistopheles, Hekate…" As Ashley recited the names, everyone said them back, like a multiplied echo. "I summon the sentinels of the abyss to bless this chamber this very night!"

Then, the space was consecrated with incense in a swinging burner, and Ashley recited some more Latin in reverence to the infernal powers. Desdemona, in her seat, sighed and could feel everything around her just shake with vibration. The ceremony continued, up until the point where her parents got up from their thrones to take their part in the ritual – Ashley had consecrated the contents of the chalice, and Melanie and Elijah went to opposite ends of the stage only to meet halfway in front of the altar with Ashley behind it. She gave Melanie the chalice, and Elijah came closer, covering her hands with his and looking down into her eyes lovingly.

"Born of the night and air, the power slumbering in dormant desires awakens," he said.

"No longer shall the lust-filled animals sleep, but may they rampage in a wanton orgy that would stagger the Devil himself," Melanie said, a little louder than her King.

"Mankind shall grasp its own and know the pleasures he was born to take. Reckless abandon shall raise aloft those that are brave enough to recognize the animal that they are," Elijah continued, feeling his member rising in his pants. Melanie could read his thoughts, sensing _I need her… I don't need to be in front of all these people to worship the_ true _goddess in front of me_. She smirked and spoke with the sole intention of exciting him more, her voice lulling softly.

"In the musky night, with reeling brains, passion shall take hold and turn into writhing, twisting bodies."

Then, they said in unison, "the great god Pan shall reside over all," before Elijah helped his Queen take the chalice to her lips to sip the wine. She did the same for him, until Ashley took it from their hands, and they clasped them together.

"To a world everlasting, life without end, _ave Satanas_ ," Ashley announced.

" _Ave Satanas_!" the crowd said. They made their way back to their thrones the same way they came, and the ritual continued on. It was maybe an hour into the ritual that Ashley, during her black sermon, was approached by a mysterious cloaked figure, who stopped her and seemed to whisper into her ear in front of everyone. _There he is again_ , Desdemona thought, looking at him as she subtly heard the High Priestess utter something strange.

"Yes, Father."

With that, she moved aside and let the man in the cloak, his face concealed under the darkness of the hood, take over for the last part of the service. He held out his hand to touch the crown of the skull on the altar, laughing maniacally before raising his hands to speak. His voice was surprisingly not hoarse, like the Princess heard it to be – it sounded like that of a cunning young man.

"Hail Satan, full of might! Our allegiance is with thee. Cursed are they, the God-adorers and cursed are the worshippers of the Nazarene eunuch! Unholy Satan, bringer of enlightenment, lend us thy power, now and for the hours of our lives!" He paused, and continued, keeping his eyes above the audience. "As the embodiment of Satan, summoned to this rite, and prompted by the precepts of the Earth, and inclinations of the flesh, we are inclined to say and make bold doing so… _Our Father who art in Hell_!"

They all repeated after the mysterious cloaked man, and every line following in the perversion of the Lord's Prayer:

" _Unhallowed be thy name,_

 _Thy kingdom has come, thy will is done_

 _On Earth as it is in Hades!_

 _We take this night, our rightful due_

 _And trespass not on paths of pain_

 _Lead us into temptation,_

 _And deliver us from false piety,_

 _For thine is the kingdom, the power and the GLORY, FOREVER!_

 _Let reason rule the Earth forevermore._

 _Hail Satan_!"

"Hail Satan!" everyone chanted back.

That was when the ritual ended.

* * *

When they got to their suite, Anathem and Desdemona had gotten ready for bed, while Melanie and Elijah stripped naked and were laying on their shared bed facing each other, making eye contact as they spoke to each other.

"I think I know who Dessi was speaking to when we arrived at the Grand Hall," she began, touching her consort's arm. "It seems wherever my father's skull is, his spirit lingers around. She may have seen him."

"Very likely," he said in response. "Do you think, per chance, he is proud of us in how we rule this kingdom?"

"Oh yes," Melanie said with a confident smirk. "He is _extremely_ proud. He is as proud as I have ever felt him to be. In his natural life, he was not as proud as he is, dead and discarnate."

"I thought he would go back to Hell when I took his life," Elijah pondered, caressing the curve of his Queen's waist and moving closer to her, caressing her hair with his free hand.

"He is founder of Regnum Infernale, the First King," Melanie said. "He is _never_ going back to Hell, unless it's on his terms." She paused, feeling him caress her face, her skin tingling under his fingertips. "It is his as much as it is ours. After all, you conquered him and took his kingdom from him."

"I did it for you, my love," Elijah said. "He killed you, and I fulfilled my vow. I avenged you and brought you back to life. I would do it again and again and again, in a heartbeat, in a single breath, or even _half_ of one."

Melanie looked down and saw that Elijah's large member was far from flaccid; it stood at attention, and she took the liberty of licking her palm and reaching down to stroke him teasingly. He groaned under his breath in pleasure, letting his voice seduce her as it did during their highlighting moment of the Black Mass. She moved closer to him and whispered.

"I noticed that you got turned on at Black Mass… have you had this erection the entire time?" she asked.

"Oh yes…" he groaned, feeling her grip tighten up on his shaft and move toward the head.

"What is it about Black Masses that get you _so_ worked up?" she inquired in a soft tone, gently teasing his earlobe with the tip of her tongue. At this, his cock started to emanate precum in slightly larger amounts, making him groan a little louder.

"Oh, my Queen… it's the thought of our bodies merging as one in reckless abandon," he said in a low voice. He was fully submissive to her, ever since the beginning and he made this clear with his words and actions. "I want you to lose yourself in delicious pleasure… please… let me touch you. Let me taste you… let me worship you…"

"Granted," she said, laying on her back.

He got even more excited at this, getting on top of her and kissing her softly, caressing her hair and face as he moved lower to her neck, kissing every inch and nook of that area. It made her moan, so he kept at it for a longer period of time, kissing her sweet spot over and over while he used his tongue against her honeysuckle-scented skin. He moaned at her taste, moving lower to kiss her clavicle and gently massage her soft breasts with his hands, using slow circular motions. Melanie, in response to this, could feel heat pooling between her legs.

"Don't stop," she moaned.

"Yes, my Queen."

He leaned down and started to pepper her breasts with chaste kisses before starting to suckle on her pert, pink nipples. His hands moved lower to her waist as his tongue and lips worked at her buds, making her moan and bite her lip, intensifying the heat below the belt. Elijah could feel her warmth radiating as he was motivated to go lower by her subtle pushing on his shoulders. He kissed her abdomen, around her navel, and along her hip bones before parting her legs. His caresses moved toward her thighs, relishing how soft her skin was under his hands. He gazed up into her eyes, and he could intuitively sense the wanting and needing of him between her legs, tasting her as he wanted to do himself. He situated himself and kissed her pubic bone, moving lower to her honey pot.

She could feel his warm breath as he leaned in to run his tongue from the bottom to the top, taking in her sweet, salty taste and scent as he moaned. She started to run his fingers through his dark hair, and he took it as a sign to keep teasing her folds with his tongue. He briefly made eye contact as his tongue glided over her clit, back and forth as he prepared a finger at her entrance for penetration. He slowly slid it in to see if she would be receptive to him, and she pleaded with him.

"Oh yes, please… go ahead!"

"Yes, my Queen," he said, his voice and nature demure for his consort. He gently suckled on her clit, much to her pleasure as she gripped his hair with one hand and the sheets with the other. Her hips began to writhe as she felt his finger move a certain way inside her. She felt an explosive orgasm come and go, intense waves moving through her body. Yet he did not stop there, he took his finger out and continued to lick her, placing his tongue inside her and collecting all of her juices, moaning at her taste. He was drinking from her like he had been in the desert for weeks without water. Melanie now had both of her hands in his hair, gripping it at the roots as she met with a second climax.

"I need you, Elijah," she panted.

"You may have me, my Queen," he said, kissing his way back up to meet her gaze as he lined up his thick, long throbbing cock against her entrance, sliding it in slowly to tease. She moaned, lightly clawing his back as he felt his length entering her more and more with the passing seconds of their intimacy. From there, he thrust more powerfully, feeling the resistance of her pelvic muscles tightening as she moaned beneath him. He just kept going, giving her orgasm after orgasm until he exploded his load inside her, groaning and collapsing next to her. After a kiss from his consort, he was quick to fall asleep, his eyes extremely heavy as his soul seemed to drift off…

* * *

 _Out of body, in his dreams_ …

Elijah could not seem to sleep. In fact, he could have sworn he was hearing a strange sound. It kept going on, and it seemed like music but in all honesty, it was a mess of notes drawn out in long vibrations. He opened his eyes, noticing that he was in the same stark-white parlor room, the fireplace burning in front of him as he rose from the sofa. He found that he was dressed in the same peculiar suit with the unique black bowtie as before. _Again, back here again_ , he thought as he saw the same wild-haired, redheaded elder witch, dressed in peculiar fashion while standing behind a stand-up device with a long, upright antenna to her right and a metal ring to the left. One hand was gestured near the right antenna, producing sound as the other hand was hovering over the ring. He furrowed his brow, seeing the woman in cat-eye glasses lost in the strange tones of the music – it was the eloquently-spoken Myrtle Snow.

"Excuse me… I'm trying to sleep," he said. "Could you stop it?"

"Oh no… dear boy, listen to the celestial tones," she said calmly, her antiquated voice lulling as she continued to make sounds on the weird instrument. Elijah rolled his eyes and took a deep breath.

"What even _is_ that? It's so very strange," he said, his tone trying to intimidate her.

"Don't be a hater, dear boy," Myrtle replied. "It is a Theremin. I cannot begin to describe all of the occasions in which I played this instrument to soothe my soul."

Elijah looked at her curiously, remembering a time when he was younger: "I played a… piano before. Also, a violin. I don't know _how_ I knew how to play, but it _came_ to me. I serenaded my Queen our first week together. It was… a song about… three birds… one green, one white and one golden, flashing like a sunbeam through the night. Then… it describes a man in love with a woman with golden blonde hair, like my Queen has, and she promises him if he killed the Dark Lord of Death, she would be his…"

He heard the sounds of boots hitting the floor, entering the room: "that was my song."

Elijah was stunned to see a rather short woman in all black, with long, blonde frizzy hair and a fringe that framed large brown eyes. She was in actuality about seventy, but looked twenty or so years younger. The bottom of her skirt was kerchiefed and uneven, and around her neck was a silver chain depicting a single crescent moon pendant. She was smiling gradly up at him, and he peered at her.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Stevie Nicks," the woman said, extending her hand for a polite introduction. He looked down at her hand and was confused. Myrtle stopped playing her theremin and intervened.

"Oh, dear boy, just shake her hand!" she exclaimed, turning her attention to the famed White Witch. "Don't mind his rudeness. He is a King, from the _new_ world. They don't do that."

"Oh…" Stevie looked at him with confusion, and instead curtseyed, taking out the edges of her skirt. Elijah smiled at her. _She is the only one who ever paid me any kind of formal respect here_ , he thought.

"I will accept that. Thank you," he said.

"My number one fan was a Queen as well," Stevie said proudly, moving aside and turning her head to reveal another presence behind her. She was tall, and her long, golden curls framed her ethereal face. Elijah's eyes widened to notice it was Misty, the First Queen of Regnum Infernale, Melanie's mother. She was clad in something that was a far cry from what she would wear as Queen in public events – a black crochet crop top with a long green shirt, brown heeled boots, and a black, floral-patterned shawl. Her fingers were covered in rings, and she wore crystal pendant jewelry and had feathers woven into her wild hair. Her bright blue eyes were exactly like Melanie's and he was prompted to get on his knees and kiss her hand.

"Your Infernal Majesty!" he expressed, taking her right hand and kissing it. Misty simply looked at her friend and favorite singer, sighing.

"Please… Elijah… d-don't call me that," she said. Elijah looked a little disheartened and rose to his feet, nodding.

"I am so sorry for offending you," he said apologetically.

"I ain't Queen no more, and I couldn't be happier," she said in her light Louisiana twang. "I ain't bound to Michael, either. He's probably down in Hell or somethin'…"

"No, he's… discarnate, actually," Elijah said. "He was present at the Black Mass tonight. We possess his skull as one of the main relics for ceremonies. Wherever that skull goes, he follows."

Misty looked down and away: "well, that ain't my life anymore… my existence is only _here_ , with my sisters… Miss Cordelia, Miss Myrtle, Zoe… by killin' me, Michael _did_ give me what I could never have…"

"And you _did_ kill the Dark Lord of Death," Stevie said, referencing her song _Maker of Birds_.

"I did. I killed him because his slaying of… _you_ ," he said, looking toward Misty, "as well as my Queen Melanie was _unjust_." He paused. "I even wanted to bring you back but she told me no."

"She knew my soul would be at peace," Misty said. "I'm so proud o'her. I am glad to know I've taught _some_ humanity to her… in that… _God-awful_ , evil place."

"I wouldn't say it's evil," Elijah challenged. "It is our way of life. We are a free society, mostly." He paused. "I just… fear the day Anathem takes the throne when my Queen and I are gone."

"My Delia has to tell you something about that," Myrtle said. "She had a vision, and wishes to tell you. Let's go and see her."

* * *

The minute Elijah walked into what looked like an office, the first thing he noticed was the sight of a young woman in flowy, but comfortable black clothing. Her mid-length brown hair, lightly highlighted with blonde streaks, was in beachy waves with the crown of her head adorned with a golden leaf headband. Upon closer inspection, she was adorned with celestial jewelry, and she looked extremely focused on the petals of a rose. Elijah watched her, Myrtle, Misty and Stevie around him, do what she was going to do, which ended up being to turn the rose's petals from virgin white to light blue. He saw her smile at the newly-transformed flower before the petals fell off onto the table before rising to the air. He stared at the petals as they turned into small, flying creatures with blue wings. He gasped, and looked back at the other three witches present.

"What are those things flying?" he questioned.

"They are _butterflies_ ," Myrtle said, surprised they did not exist in the new world.

"Butterflies," he repeated.

He reached out with his palm up with the hopes of catching one to take a closer look. Once he did, a conjured butterfly landed on his finger. He smiled down at it, enthralled by what the very-familiar witch was doing at the table. Then, it turned back into two white petals, landing in his palm. He looked at the witch, and knew exactly who it was. It was Mallory, his mother, and her great amber eyes looked up at him. His heart raced with excitement as he smiled grandly down at her, approaching her and getting on his knees.

"Mom! You're… alive! You're healthy, and _so_ young!" he exclaimed, looking up at her. "Glowing radiant health…"

She did not respond, and he got disheartened, so that made him persist in interacting with his late mother.

"Mom… I am _so_ sorry if I did anything to cause you to want to euthanize yourself. I tried to be a good son, I swear. I know that my parentage may have prevented you from seeing that, but I am _not_ my father. I am not fully human, but I am _not_ my father… believe me!" He paused, sniffling and trying to wipe his eyes. "Why did you keep your sickness from me? Knowing full well who I would become… then again you had your identity hidden from you… I can't really blame you. My Queen taught me everything she could, and sure enough, my lineage to you makes me the de-facto Supreme…"

"She cannot hear you." He turned around when he saw Cordelia, the reigning Supreme before Mallory were to take her place as Supreme Elect. He rose to his feet and sighed sadly, looking to see she was dressed rather well, in a cream white blouse with a gathered kerchief detail at the neck, and a long black skirt complete with light blue gem earrings and a pair of heeled pumps.

"Why not?"

"She is not ready to speak with you, but there is something you _need_ to know about your son," the former Supreme said, gesturing over to her desk and the chairs in front of it. "Please, be seated."

Elijah relucted, sitting down and looking back at his mother, still focused on the flower until Cordelia cleared her throat to get his attention. He looked forward at her, his piercing, glacial-colored eyes looking right at her dark brown ones. She had a pleasant, but grave expression on her face as she began.

"Your son is… _Anathem_ , right?" she asked.

"Yes." He paused, taking a deep sigh in through his nose, "I've come to the realization that I fear the day he becomes King. You see, there was an incident."

"I know," Cordelia said, nodding. "There was some study or experimentation done, and one particular part of it provoked him, as well as most of the other…" She chose her words carefully, " _spawn_ , to kill one of your sisters and associates."

"Yes. However, Isla knew full well that playing hymns would make the demonic spawn uncomfortable," Elijah said. "She just wanted to compare us with humans, even though it is extremely obvious that we are the _stronger_ , more resilient race. As I said, we will take over the world as we know it eventually."

"Anathem seems to have other plans," Cordelia said.

"What do you mean?"

"In my vision," the former Supreme said gravely, "your son plans to take the throne upon you and Melanie's-"

"Do _not_ call her by her first name. You are to address her as Her Infernal Majesty!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry… _Her_ Infernal Majesty," she continued, "upon both of your deaths. He wants to exterminate the human race and make the Earth only inhabited by demons. Any who survive his plan to kill humans, are enslaved, tortured… sacrificed… any humans he kills, he will feed off them."

"Like a demonic _Hitler_!" Myrtle exclaimed, displeased by the notion. "Have you not learned from the child's tales that impotent men tell flaccid little boys to make them believe that one day, they will amount to something _special_?!" Her voice grew harsher with contempt. "Time and time again, history has shown us that the hubris of men has _no bounds_! Have we learned nothing from Attila the Hun? Ivan the Terrible? Herod the Great? Saddam Hussein? Kim-Jong Il? Vlad the Impaler? _Mark Zuckerburg_?!"

Some of the names sounded familiar, but the last one he did not know: " _who_?" he asked.

"The point is," the elder, redheaded witch said, coming down from her rant, "he is _not_ fit to rule, and you know it! If anything your little girl, young Desdemona, is more suitable for the crown."

His eyes widened – "you're kidding me. She is much too young!"

"She will have help," Cordelia said. "I also had a vision of Anathem being brutally killed, along with you and your Queen. He won't live to see the day he gets crowned."

"By whom?" Elijah asked, his heart beating with hidden rage.

"I cannot see whom," Cordelia said. "However, I can see his throat is slashed… and Desdemona is in a crown… overlooking her people."

"Does she have a consort?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

Cordelia sighed, reaching for his left hand. Thinking this was part of the revelation, he let her take it, and it was like he was put into a trance. Really, the former Supreme was transferring her vision over to him through his receptive hand…

 _Desdemona was walking down a hallway through one of the compounds, holding the front of her gown up over her feet to ease in walking. It was dark burgundy tulle with a full skirt, and the top of off the shoulder with a sweetheart neckline and ballooning, translucent sleeves. She was decked out in bright ruby jewelry consisting of drop earrings and an ornate statement necklace. Her young, fresh face was void of makeup, and if anything, her petite, five-foot frame seemed to swim in the dress. Her light blonde hair was up and away from her face in a neat bun, and she stopped in front of one of the doors, knocking. As it opened, she entered._

" _Desdemona, you look stunning," a familiar voice said. "A look very befitting for a Queen."_

" _Soon to be, Uncle John," the young girl said. "Can I have a minute? I need to speak with you."_

 _The tall, flaxen-haired demonic man was staring into a mirror and adjusting his red tie to go with his black suit: "I am not quite ready for the coronation procession." She watched him, taking a sharp breath as she watched him dip a small paintbrush into a paint pot filled with crimson eyeshadow, as they were required to wear. As he worked it from the top of his eye socket down to the tear duct, she spoke._

" _I can't do this alone." He turned to see that she had started to cry, putting her palms against her face. He wrapped his strong arms around his niece, his suit jacket collecting every drop that fell from her eyes. She began to sob, and he took her hand, sitting with her on his sofa in the suite._

" _Desdemona," he said. "I know this is a very difficult time for you, but I_ know _in my heart of hearts, you are indeed fit to rule."_

" _I'm just a kid," she whined. "I don't know anything about ruling, or diplomacy or…"_

" _There is not much to it. Whatever you say, goes," he replied. "Anyone who has the balls to challenge you, you can punish them any way you see fit. Usually a death sentence, but-"_

" _I'm inept," the girl replied, the lack of confidence showing in her voice. "I can't do this… c-can someone else do it? Until I am ready, and have grown up a bit?"_

" _Desdemona," John said, cupping her face in his hands and looking down into her eyes. She could feel his light breath on her face, "this is your duty. You are last in line for the throne of Regnum Infernale. You must embrace it. With great power comes great responsibility, as I have learned, and for you… you have_ so much _within you, so much_ potential _… you are indeed fit to be Queen. When you go on that stage and get the crown placed on your head, you will know that is your rightful place."_

" _I…" she blurted it out. "I want you to be King. Y-You're the_ only one _who has ever seen me as somebody who can do things, and not like a child. I may be very young, but you have taught me so many things, and I…want to repay you, for the wisdom you have shown me."_

 _His hazel eyes widened, taking his hands off her face: "Desdemona, I…"_

" _I'll do anything," she said desperately. "I will make Cecilia a Princess, next in line, or whichever of your offspring you favor most! I promise you!" She got off the sofa and got on her knees, looking up and him and holding one of his hands tightly, her feline blue eyes pleading with tears in them. "There is no romantic love here. You are my uncle, and I am your niece. That is_ it _. You may have any woman you want as a lover, or mistress… you do NOT have to touch me in any way, shape or form… just please…" She began to cry on his knee. "Help me rule… I cannot do it myself."_

 _There was silence, and all the girl Princess could hear was her silent crying. Then, she could feel his hands gently patting her head. This went on for at least a few more moments before he spoke._

" _Your father would absolutely_ flip _if he knew I was in line for the throne because of you," he said. He changed his tone. "Get off your knees, Your Infernal Majesty. You are no common subject." She did as she was told, only to see that her uncle got on one knee in front of her. "I should be the one at_ my knees _for_ you _."_

"I CAN'T SEE ANYMORE!"

Elijah rose from his seat and telekinetically launched the chair he was sitting it toward the wall, making it hit with such a hard impact that the chair, well-built and constructed, broke into several pieces. His anger seemed to vibrate through the room as he gritted his teeth so hard he was on the verge of a headache. He reached down and took his rage out on Cordelia's desk, swiping off as much as he could and breaking things. Cordelia rose from her seat and was about to put him in his place, but he heard a familiar voice stop him.

"ELIJAH! STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"

He turned around, his fury seething as he saw Mallory rose from her seat, her hand out with a disappointed look on her face. She courageously approached him and watched him break down right in front of her, tears and all. His emotions were always intense, and he expressed them as such. He collapsed to the floor in an open psychological mess and cried heavily. Mallory crouched and consoled him.

" _What is wrong…"_ he heard.

* * *

"Elijah, what's the matter?"

Her consort was crying in his sleep, and she shook him slightly as he opened his eyes. He was sobbing uncontrollably even though she helped him sit up. She looked at him with concern and he shook his head.

"Anathem cannot be King," she heard him say.

She was dumbfounded: " _WHAT_?"

"John needs to _die…_ again," he sobbed, looking into her eyes with enough seriousness as a British Royal Guard.

"Where is this coming from?!" she asked emphatically. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No!" he said forcefully. "I saw your mother, the Queen there… and my mother, Mallory, the Supreme before me, and Myrtle Snow. Cordelia Goode showed me visions, told me he would likely die, with us, before he even sees his coronation day, but _still_. Desdemona is the true heir, not Anathem. If she becomes Queen, that horny dog John will become King and possibly DEFILE her!" His voice raised slightly. "I cannot have a world like that! Don't you see?"

Melanie struggled to follow him: "Elijah…"

"If Anathem becomes King, he will _ruin_ what Lucifer intends for this kingdom. I know that our race will one day dominate the Earth, but Anathem will deliberately _kill_ humans, enslave them, use them as sacrifices even though _we_ do that on a smaller scale with Devil's Night. He will go against how it is _supposed_ to go… humans are supposed to fade out of existence because of interbreeding…" He paused. "He will be an absolute _tyrant_. He is our father all the way. We need to do something…"

"We can't _kill_ him, Elijah," Melanie ordered. "He is our _son_ , and regardless of his disposition, he is our _heir_."

"We can put him in permanent exile," he suggested. "Or find that identity spell Cordelia put on my mother… and do it to him! If she can just tell me how to do it…"

"No, Elijah," Melanie snapped. "Are you _insane_?"

"My Queen, I normally would submit to your authority, but Anathem is a _danger_ to society, and the crown is in _peril_!" he said. "I surely do not want humans to die senselessly. I know they are pure amusement to you, but don't you agree that humans should not have to die because he thinks demons should rule the world?"

Melanie took a breath and thought for a moment. He could sense her frustration like a shark could smell blood in the ocean: "you're right, but…"

"Think of it this way, my Queen," he said a bit more gently. "If he takes power, there will be a _second_ apocalypse. You lived through the first one, and you know firsthand that beyond this sanctuary, in between the other two, it is _deadly_ out there. Just imagine that being taken _inside_ these windowed walls." He paused. "In the meantime, I think we should hire guards to watch over this suite."

"Guards?"

"Because I was told, by Cordelia, that we will die brutally. Let's change that," Elijah said. "Tomorrow morning, we hire Cooperative droids, the newest models available for fighting and combat, to guard the outside of the suite at all times."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _Yes, guys! A double update! Hope you've enjoyed it! Little side note to say I took a ton of inspiration for the ritual in this chapter from the Satanic High Mass held by the Church of Satan on 6/6/2006. The full ritual is on YouTube in case you are curious, feel free to look it up!_

 _Please Favorite, Follow and leave a Review! Thanks, stay tuned!_


	6. Ch 6 - Time and Envy

**Chapter 6: Time and Envy**

"Vanderbilt."

"I'm here, it's… Dessi," the Princess said into the wall communicator.

The door opened, and John was standing there with a smile. He was expecting her for a private lesson in his suite regarding the discovery of any new powers, especially from the Seven Wonders. She noticed he was dressed down in a black button-up shirt tucked into a pair of slacks, and he was only wearing socks on his feet. He let Desdemona into his suite, where it was dark. That all changed when he closed the door, and the Princess gasped when a dozen candles around the room seemed to light themselves, giving a dim environment for them to be in. She saw her uncle's hand go down from being in the air, knowing full well he used his defining power to ignite the wicks.

"Uncle John… I…"

"Don't have the book I asked you to bring?" he finished her sentence curiously.

"No, but… hold on."

She walked toward the mirror that stood near the kitchen area, and concentrated. He watched her display of conjuration, seeing that the mirror became foggy to the point where she could not even see her reflection. It also seemed to ripple, signaling her to reach into the surface as if she were intangible and pull out an old leather tome. Once it was out of the mirror, it returned to its solid state once more, and she smiled at her reflection. She heard John applauding her behind her and she turned.

"Yes, very well done. Conjuration," he smiled.

Desdemona decided to take it even further and set the book on the dining table in the suite. The leather cover was illuminated by the light of three candles, and she opened the book to the pages describing all of the Seven Wonders with just her mind, her palms facing down toward the book. He smiled and nodded, impressed as he watched the pages rapidly flip to the correct one.

"Again, well done. Telekinesis. What else can you do? Show me."

 _Ba-eh-eh-eh… ba-eh-eh-eh…_

John heard a familiar animal sound, and as it resumed, he traced it to his bedroom, gasping to see that there was a large black goat on his bed, making its trademark, deep sound as it

" _Ave Satanas_ ," he said reverently, seeing the symbol of the goat as sacred. Then he snapped out of it, "alright, get out!"

Desdemona laughed as she saw the goat leave the bedroom, and she reached down to pat it. John looked down at her and shook his head: "conjuration _again_?"

"No, it isn't real," the Princess said, patting the black goat on its behind to get it to go back into the bedroom where it came from. John rolled his eyes and chased the goat only to see that nothing was in his room. He was impressed and amazed – she performed illusion manipulation with minimal effort.

"Wow… it's gone."

"I told you he wasn't real," Desdemona said. "I used it to create snakes in Anathem's bed once because he got me angry." She paused. "My mother had a heart attack. She _hates_ snakes. I was two. You should have seen the look on his face when he woke up the next day. He was so scared."

John chuckled, and had an idea. He remembered when Desdemona accidentally killed herself with her first real display of telekinesis, a power he encouraged her to foster. In the Clinic, where Elijah used vitalum vitalis to bring her back to life and full health, he was under the King's concilium until Desdemona intervened. The King was immensely powerful as it was, and to negate his powers was an impressive feat for anyone. She also was so young even still – he looked at her and tried to silently coerce her to do something, the ultimate end goal being to walk closer toward him. The Princess looked at him with confusion, and seemed to be subconsciously fighting his use of concilium – usually, to resist this power while under it was extremely dangerous. It had been known to cause aneurisms in those who resisted. Desdemona was looking at him and laughing; no blood was coming from her eyes or nose.

"Very impressive," he said, resorting to something more tactile. He used pyrokinesis and tried to make her go up in flames, but instead, Desdemona's instincts cancelled the fire out before it could even spark. He repeated himself, in awe of what the girl could do. " _Very_ impressive!"

"I don't want to die again, thank you. The first time really sucked," the Princess said.

"No, no. You also are capable of power negation. That isn't very common," John replied. "You could _really_ use that one day."

"One day? Why, do you see something happening to me?"

"Desdemona… _you_ are meant to be Queen, and a _great_ one at that," John revealed, knowing this through his proficient divination skills. "I am very sure that now, your father, the King, knows that. I have known that ever since I really got to know you more being a student of the Azazel Academy. I was gone for most of your life, but now that I am here… I see that _you_ are very powerful. I also know there is so much more you can do. You have so much potential…which is why I invited you here."

 _Knock-knock_ …

John rolled his eyes and walked toward the automated communication attached to the wall, pressing the button and speaking into it: "Vanderbilt."

"It's Lydia and Cecilia," the voice on the other side said. "Let us in."

"I'm a little busy."

"Of _course,_ you are," said Lydia's voice.

"Desdemona!" Cecilia exclaimed, having a clairvoyant vision of her being in there behind the closed door. "Hello there!"

John reluctantly opened the door, and Desdemona smiled at her friend and relative, who smiled back. Lydia, however, was highly suspicious of the fact that the Princess was alone with someone like John in his suite of all places. She focused on him, a glare in her blue eyes as John looked back at her with a seductive smirk. _Don't you dare look at me like that, you hound_ , she thought.

"Why do you need to see me?"

"I just wanted to. Why is Desdemona with you?"

"We are practicing her powers."

"And _I_ am supposed to be her instructor, not you," Lydia challenged.

"We are not on class time," John smirked.

"That makes it worse."

John looked over to his daughter, especially proficient in clairvoyance and lectio animo, and instructed her to help Desdemona demonstrate some kind of similar ability even if it was divination: "Cecilia, do me a favor and verify her answers for me."

"Okay?"

"Desdemona, what color am I thinking of?"

Her eyes widened, and she blurted out the first thing to come to mind: "uh… teal?"

"Wrong," Cecilia said, reading her father's soul, "it was red."

"Next question. What number is on my mind?" He looked to his daughter, "don't tell her."

"It's… uh…" She tried to make the effort to concentrate, saying her chosen number when she felt confident enough. "73?"

"Wrong," Cecilia repeated. "It was 12."

"You need to work on that, Desdemona. Maybe we should focus on divination for you," John winked.

"No offense, but your divination skills suck."

"Watch your language, that's the Princess!" Lydia said sharply.

"It's quite alright. I know I suck at it," Desdemona chuckled. She looked at John, who looked back at her and right into her eyes. "I… think I am going to go now, but I'll be back for another lesson soon!"

"Of course," he smiled tenderly, seeing the Princess join his daughter, Cecilia and walk out of the compound past Lydia. The redheaded demonic woman walked into the suite and glared at John angrily with disgust. He could sense these on her, and when she spoke, her voice seemed to shake.

"Will you _ever_ grow out of this shit, John?" she asked rhetorically.

His eyes widened with such shock it nearly shook him. "Ex _cuse_ me?!"

"You know what I'm talking about, John. You are a hound for pussycat. I saw how you looked at Desdemona, our own _Princess_ , just now. She is a _girl_ , damn you!"

He felt his fiery anger burning inside him. He was so tempted to channel it into setting her on fire right then and there, but he controlled himself with such poise and attitude: "incest is one of the best taboos to indulge in, but I would never, and I mean NEVER touch that girl. She is my _niece_. The King would destroy me. Do you think I am _that_ deviant, Lydia?"

"I wouldn't put it past you," she said spitefully. "All these years, even when _we_ didn't know our relation to one another, you've had, reveled and rutted with every woman in this sanctuary and defiled every young woman once they were of age, all except the Queen and Princess perhaps… and Cecilia…"

"She's my daughter. I'd _never_ lie with any of my own children," he grunted, moving closer to her. "Leave my suite, you crazy bitch. Who I fuck is none of your business, anyhow."

Lydia felt like killing him – for years, she had felt deep, but unrequited love toward him, her own half-brother. Even after they found out their relation, she could never bear to let the feelings die down. She had only one child, Cecilia, by him, and her younger brother was also fathered by him. Her mother died a second death giving birth to the baby, so now, Lydia was his caretaker and teacher even though he was close in age with Cecilia. Even when he was sent away to Sanctum Two for two years, she longed for the experience to change him into someone who would love her and miss her while he was away – it seemed like it made him worse. She felt tears forming in her eyes, trying to maintain her composure.

"I love you," she whined. "Why do you keep doing this to me? You once said I was your favorite to have… we are always seeing each other… teaching or Devil's Night or Black Mass… I only had one child… YOUR FUCKING CHILD… I take good care of her… all these years I have… and you cannot even give me good word?"

He chuckled and crudely walked up to her, taking her by the waist and pulling her close to him with all of his strength; he almost got hard in his pants from the feeling of her breasts pressed against his clothed chest: "do you not know, my dear?"

"Know _what_?" Tears fell from her eyes.

"My body holds a heart that cannot love. It can only _lust_. It is driven to indulge in fleshly pleasures, just as our Father wants us to live." He smirked, and she swooned subconsciously, not letting it show. "Cecilia is indeed my favorite child, but don't think that because you _had_ to raise her that we could _ever_ be monogamous."

He let her go, and she had her answer: he did not love her. She knew this all along, but this took her over the edge. John walked away, and she effortlessly reached into her pocket and pulled out a Desert Eagle, conjured by one of her defining powers, aiming it down at his leg to prevent him from walking as she shot one loud bullet into his knee. He collapsed and screamed, too focused on the severe pain he felt to try and defend himself with his powers.

"What the… _fuck_ … is…that thing?!" he said through gritted teeth, trying to bear the pain as he saw her deviously look down at him like the demon she was. Her eyes seemed to turn a solid black, and for a moment, it was like he could see her true form – ram's horns began to grow out of her head, her ears were pointy, and her tongue was long, like that of a serpent.

"Your end is nigh," she smiled, proceeding to shoot down at him nine more times, lodging bullets in his arm, his torso, and even one to penetrate one of the vital arteries in his neck. He was dead for yet a third time, and she crouched down to view the result of what she had done. Her emotional torment was over – she made one final shot to his face, making him unrecognizable before she left the suite, purposely keeping the door open and putting the gun back in her pocket.

Lydia found herself on the sofa in the royal suite, making it past the guards who asked her to identify herself. Elijah was true to his word in hiring guard androids from the Cooperative, the most state-of-the-art for combat and fighting if it meant they had to defend the royals from the fulfillment of the visions Cordelia told him about. She had to confess to Their Infernal Majesties what she had done. Melanie looked at her, and before she could say anything, she knew something was up.

* * *

"You killed John Vanderbilt," she said.

"If you want to execute me for it," Lydia offered, "be my guest."

Elijah shook his head: "we wouldn't want to. You've done us a service."

The redhead was confused: "really? How?"

"I wanted him dead since a prophetic dream I had last night," the King revealed. "He was in line for King because he was asked by my daughter to be her consort."

Lydia's skin almost crawled like a bunch of angry fire ants. She was sick to her stomach: "dis _gust_ ing. I

had my suspicions about him with the Princess." She did not say any more because she didn't want her

getting into trouble with her parents.

"Suspicions?" Melanie asked.

"The way he looked at her…" She teared up. "I _loved_ him, damn it! He hurt me too many times for me to let it continue! I would give my heart up for the taking for him…"

"I know that you loved him dearly, madly, deeply… just as I love my Queen," Elijah said, holding Melanie's hand. "John was a man who could not love anyone but himself. Love for him only existed for one night."

"I hate myself for ever allowing myself to love someone like him, when he hurt me every time he was with other women, or he was flirting," Lydia said with guilt. "I just want it to go away. My chest literally hurts that I had to kill him…"

Elijah, being the sensitive and overall understanding person that he was, stood up and walked so that he was standing right behind Lydia as she sat in the lounge chair across from the sofa. Melanie watched him keep a dignified manner, putting his hand comfortingly on their half-sister's shoulder. Lydia's blue eyes looked up at him, and she found comfort in his words.

"I feel your pain… it hurts _me_ , too… I do not exactly know what it is like to have someone not return the love I had for them. I was struck fortunate when I met my Queen… but there must be someone in this sanctuary meant for you… or even in another sanctuary," he said, trying to comfort her.

 _He is like a woman_ , Melanie thought to herself as she watched her consort comfort their sister, _he's got such profound emotional intelligence and sensitivity. Say, sending her to another sanctuary isn't that bad of an idea, with Cecilia_.

"Do you think so?"

"Oh yes. I know so," Elijah said with a smile. "Monogamy may not be practiced as much as it was in the old world, but for those who do? They are special. Monogamy means giving of yourself to your love, sometimes blindly without question, but that is a chance you take. Someone like John did not understand love in its purest essence. Making love and sleeping with someone are two separate passions that are not merely different, but opposites. Love does not make itself felt in the desire for carnal pleasures but in the desire for shared sleep."

"That is… _beautiful_ , Your Infernal Majesty," Lydia agreed, looking down at her knees.

"I may be a mediocre King at times, but I have always possessed a soft heart," he replied.

"Perhaps," Melanie said, standing up to assert some authority, "it is best that Lydia venture to another sanctuary to find that which she is missing."

Elijah smiled at his Queen and nodded: "it would be a great experience for you and Cecilia to see the world."

"Are you certain that is a good idea?" Lydia questioned. "My entire life has been based in Sanctum One." She sighed. "Is it an order?"

"Yes," Melanie said. "It is an order. Arrange to have your belongings packed by this Friday."

"What about the school?"

"Hunter and Axel could teach if they wish. Honestly, demonic spawn cannot be tamed, unfortunately, as we learned from the incident with Anathem and the rest of them," the Queen stated.

"And Cecilia is coming with me?"

"Yes, along with two Cooperative androids. The same sort that guard this very suite."

Lydia nodded, demure to the command of her Queen: "yes, Your Infernal Majesty."

* * *

Desdemona finally got around to sitting down with the recording device she had taken from the Cooperative branch during the studies-gone-wrong on demonic spawn. She turned on the touch screen and fiddled with it a bit until she found the folder with all of the interviews, hers included. She knew her own identification number, HIH_DESLAN52327, as well as Anathem's, but his was the focus of her search. Once she found the first interview, she made sure it was as low as she could hear it and put the speaker to her ear, listening to the dialogue shared between Isla and her brother.

" _First one. Do you think it is ever okay to bear false witness or lie?"_

" _Only if it's needed. Not like Dessi, though. She lies so much, her tongue is loose. Our parents like her more than me. It's disgusting. I'm going to be King."_ There was a pause, and Desdemona quietly rolled her eyes. _"Except if someone like you lies to us royals, you will face harsh consequences."_

" _Next question. What does morality mean to you?"_

" _Nothing. It's bullshit, one of the many lies and hypocrisies of the old world. Morality, as a concept, was intended to keep humans in their place."_ Desdemona nodded in agreement, continuing to hear what was said.

" _Agreed. Next is, if you see someone in need of food or shelter, is it your obligation to help them?"_

" _Fuck no! If I had it my way, I'd make their heart the first human heart I eat. It is their obligation to serve me in that way, as their sovereign."_ Desdemona shook her head and spoke to herself: "he's out of his mind. No one is homeless or hungry in Regnum Infernale."

" _What is your opinion on suicide?"_

" _Let them do it,"_ she heard him say callously in the recording.

" _And if they want you to help them take their life?"_ she heard Isla question.

" _That's even more pitiful."_ There was a disturbing laugh after this statement _. "I wouldn't. I'd let them suffer all the more until they gave in to their petty feelings."_

" _I see. If you were to deliberately sabotage a piece of machinery so that the next person who uses it is severely injured, would you be responsible for those injuries?"_

" _No. You check the fucking thing first before you use it. Humans are such idiots."_ Desdemona rolled her eyes again: "you're the idiot, Anathem. Humans are not powerful enough to predetermine things."

Desdemona kept listening, but it was not long until Isla asked a pressing question, and Anathem's answer disturbed her deeply. Desdemona, being a pureblooded demon, was not easily disturbed but what she heard was heinous.

" _What is humanity's ultimate goal?"_

" _Are you seriously asking me? The ultimate goal of humanity is to die off and let our race take over."_

" _Is that what you really think?"_ Isla asked on the recording.

" _That or they will interbreed with our race, and die off that way. There will be no more pure humans left, anywhere. Uncle John is doing a killer job with that process. Human women feel gnawing pain and bleed to death giving birth to spawn. I just wish my fucking sister would stop sensing their deaths and bringing them back!"_

That was the end of the recording, but she was curious enough to listen to the next interview, regarding powers and abilities. She was shaking wildly with anticipation, scrolling and tapping on the touch screen on his identification number and where it said _ABILITIES_. She listened in, taking the speaker to her ear once more.

" _What is the most profound ability you have displayed? Reminder that we are using the classical Seven Wonders as a model for classifying abilities."_ Isla's first question was met by a sarcastic response.

" _This is bullshit… the Seven Wonders. What a way to limit our capabilities._ " There was a pause. " _I can move things with my mind, telekinesis. I can move place to place without actually occupying the space between, transmutation. I do use that one a lot."_

" _What else, Anathem?"_

" _I can make people submit to my will. Concilium, I think it's called. I can set fires with my mind, pyrokinesis. I also know things, and can sense things. I think that's divination._ "

" _I see_." There was a pause on Isla's part. " _Can you tell me if you possess anything beyond the Seven Wonders? For example, I have clairvoyance. That is not one of them._ "

" _I don't have that, but I can do one thing, you see_." Desdemona heard him clear his throat before he continued. _"I had this one guy, I actually kind of liked him. I wanted to fuck him. So, we go to his shithole of a suite like most of the peasants in this damn kingdom dwell in, and just as I take my pants down and let my dick out, he tells me…_ " She heard Anathem speak with a mocking voice, "'Your Infernal Highness, I don't think I can do this' _. So, I said, 'what do you mean'. The bastard is like_ 'I am just not feeling it, my deepest apologies.' _Huh!"_ Anathem's tone turned to one of anger. _"How DARE that fucker waste MY time! He should be kissing my shoes because I gave him the time of day!"_ There was a pause, and Desdemona cringed. " _Oh, Aunt Isla… can you keep a secret for me_?"

" _That's what I do best, Anathem. May I ask, does it involve-_ "

She was cut off by a shrill yell from Anathem. _"No! Keep my fucking parents out of this!"_

" _Okay… I will… but tell me what happened with him."_

" _I did more than set Mr. Reject on fire. I could not detect his life force when I was done with him. Let me tell you, the look of suffering and agony on his face was enough to get me off. He ceased to exist, Aunt Isla. BEYOND DEAD. My sister, nor my parents, know I can do that. I can only imagine how disloyal that guy would have been to me the event I became his King."_

Desdemona felt her heart shaking in her chest. Her own brother was hiding an egregious power right under all of their noses. She was shocked that her father and mother could not detect that he had the power of destroying souls. She wondered why, but then she listened to him speak in the recording even more.

" _My father is not only a King but a Supreme. Give me a fucking break, why don't you. He's a sad excuse for a man, worships the cow that is my mother than our Father, Satan. When he gets mad, he subdues me. I HATE being subdued. That man has got so much emotional bullshit inside him that he has to take it out on me for the STUPIDEST reasons, like when Dessi died recently. Uncle John put me under something, but I can't remember much except for the fact that my father almost used physical force on me. Of course, Mommy Dearest didn't punish me. I didn't do anything wrong, though._ "

" _Can you tell me why you wish for this to be a secret_?" Isla asked in the recording.

" _In case any of them decide to turn against me, I can take them by surprise,"_ she heard Anathem say, making her heart sink.

She knew how gravely serious this was, to know that her brother was so demented and callous, and even deceitful with hiding his soul destruction power from his own family for a twisted purpose in the event it was to happen. She knew she needed to take this to her parents as soon as possible. However, this was not an easy feat – the following day, there was a Cooperative meeting regarding the death of Isla and the instilment of a new decree stating that demonic spawn are never to be experimented on again under the pretense that demon spawn can be "provoked to anger". Also, they had gotten a hold of a copy of the checklist Isla planned to complete with the different research types – Melanie was horrified to know that this endeavor was practically suicide for Isla, especially with the Princess and Prince as subjects. It was a time-honored law at this point that any bodily harm done to a royal resulted in death, and it didn't even matter if the royal member died and could be brought back; it was the intent to kill, maim or cause harm that mattered.

So, she resorted to waiting until very late at night to break the news to her parents. Desdemona hated waking her parents up, but she needed to in order to get this information to them as soon as she could. She went to her mother and tapped her shoulder, and she trudgingly opened her eyes to see her daughter there. Elijah followed suit, sitting up and pyrokinetically lighting the candles on the bedside tables.

"Yes, Dessi. Are you alright?" Melanie asked.

"I hate to wake you but… we need to talk. It's very serious," Desdemona said gravely. "It's… about Anathem."

 _She knows_ , Elijah thought. "What about him?"

Desdemona held up the recording device and looked at her weary mother and father: "I have evidence that he is a danger to not only this family, but the throne and the kingdom as a whole."

"Where'd you get that?" Melanie asked, taking it from her.

"I stole it when the chaos went down during the study," the Princess said. "Look for his identification number under the second interview, not the first on the list."

Melanie wiped the sleep from her eyes and looked down at the lit touch screen, tapping on Anathem's number and listening to the interview about his abilities. She heard Isla asking about them, and the Prince described what he was able to do in his life. When asked if he could do anything beyond the Seven Wonders' classification, that was where it began that they listened attentively. He described the anecdote of a planned homosexual liaison with a subject, who changed his mind as they were getting busy. They heard the anger in their son's voice in the recording, and then the part where he asked Isla to keep the secret and to not mention his parents in relation to it. Elijah looked at his Queen, the expression on it as he described what he did to the poor guy – it was soul destruction, and she shook her head with disbelief at the fact that Anathem knew full well what he was doing when he decided to keep it secret. Elijah, however, got angry when he heard Anathem talking smack about he and his Queen. The line, " _he's a sad excuse for a man, worships the cow that is my mother more than our Father, Satan_ ," got his blood boiling – even though it was his own son, how dare he speak about his beloved Queen in such a vile fashion? Melanie was more taken aback at why he kept it a secret, her face blanching as she listened to, " _in case any of them decide to turn against me, I can take them by surprise_."

" _Disinherited_!" Melanie seethed quietly as she turned off the device, looking to her King. "Did you know about this?"

"No, I did not."

"My father was able to do that," the Queen said gravely. "Now, Anathem can. How _dare_ he keep that from us?"

"What are you going to do to him?" Desdemona asked worriedly. "A-Are you going to kill him?"

Elijah shook his head, uncertain of how to answer her: "I don't know, Dessi. He is much too dangerous to be kept alive, but if we try to kill him, we may _die_ trying."

"The… witches in your dreams… they were right. Please accept my apologies for thinking you'd gone mad," Melanie said to Elijah.

"No worries. I do not blame you. Maybe… if I go back to sleep, they will help me. Maybe with that identity spell," the King said.

Melanie suddenly got a mental hold of her daughter's thoughts, clear as day: _Uncle John was right, I am destined to be a Queen. Wait… where is he_? At that moment, she sighed and looked to Elijah, who immediately got a sense of what was up. They both looked at her and spoke the truth about what happened to John.

"Desdemona." Melanie sounded grave. "John is…"

The girl naively looked on at her mother, her feline eyes widening: "what, Mother?" She paused. "I hope he's okay. I want to tell him he was _correct_ , if this was the course of events he was seeing when-"

"He was killed, Dessi," Elijah said without holding back.

Her eyes widened, tears filling her eyes. She could not believe it, and her voice spoke with such rapid fire she could barely be understood: " _what?!_ What do you mean? Why? Who did it? Where is his body? I'll bring him back!"

"He was cremated this morning," the Queen told her.

"But who did it? Who killed him?" Desdemona asked distressingly.

"Aunt Lydia," Elijah said.

"But _why_?"

"It's not something you could understand," Elijah said.

"I may be young, but I am _not_ an idiot," Desdemona said rather harshly, still in her hushed tone.

Melanie simply took her daughter's face in her hands and spoke intently, looking into her eyes: "satis, hold your tongue."

Her daughter was struck silent, and she could not negate it because her mother moved so fast in bending her will. She seemed to forget about what was told to her about John Vanderbilt. Meanwhile, just outside the door and down the hallway, Anathem was sitting up in his bed, his eyes rolled back into his skull. His hands were clutching his bedspread, and his long, light brown hair was tangled and framed his face. Any normal person with sense would suspect he was under sleep paralysis, but really, he could see and hear everything that went on from the minute Desdemona walked into their sleeping parents' bedroom to tell them about what he had said and hidden from them. When he got out of the deep state of consciousness, he felt his blood boiling – how dare his own family conspire against him? He knew he had to get rid of them, and be smart in doing so.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _Things are starting to heat up… all I can say._

 _Please Review, Favorite and Follow if you like this story. Thanks so much!_


	7. Ch 7 - Return of the Witches

**Chapter 7 – Return of the Witches**

Elijah knew he was in a dream state when walking down the stark, classic-styled white halls of Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies dressed in his black suit with the peculiar black necktie. His dark hair was neatly combed, and the first thing he could hear was the sound of a soft piano playing in a light key, accompanied with a raspy, but pleasant singing voice. He was led to the ancestry room, seeing no one but Stevie Nicks behind the piano, Misty Day next to her and listening to the chanteuse sing:

" _A bird that is not mine..._ _  
_ _Three birds that belong to her_ _  
_ _One emerald-green,_ _  
_ _One snow-white._ _  
_ _One golden, flashing like a_ _  
_ _Sunbeam through the night..._ _  
_ _One golden, flashing like a_ _  
_ _Sunbeam through the night_..."

Elijah stepped forward into the room, seeing what seemed to be a delighted, captive audience listening to Stevie perform for them. Cordelia, Madison, and Zoe were on the antique sofa, Queenie and Mallory were in upholstered chairs, while Myrtle was in another chair adjacent to the piano where Misty was joined with Stevie on the bench. The King decided to join in on the singing, remembering the next verse from when he serenaded Melanie when they were younger. He took the liberty of changing some of the words to personalize it:

" _When at first, I saw her..._ _  
_ _It seemed she had no name_ _  
_ _She sat alone, and it seemed to me_ _  
_ _That the light and her face were the same..._ _  
_ _Her hair shone, streamed blond and gold..._ _  
_ _I thought..."Maybe..._ _I was_ _going insane..."_

All of the witches seated turned to look at Elijah, delighted by his beautiful voice which was between a tenor and a baritone range. Stevie encouraged him to sing with her, smiling as they harmonized:

" _Her gown was no more_ _t_ _han the water could cover..._ _  
_ _This time would not come again..._ _  
_ _And the white mares dance..._ _  
_ _And the Lady asks..._

 _'Take my wisdom with you..._ _  
_ _I shall ride...'_ "

Elijah sang the next few lines on his own, putting a very personal spin on the original words:

"' _Cause I killed the Dark Lord of Death,_

 _She became my Queen…_

 _She became my Queen_ …"

The singer and the King harmonized the rest of the song perfectly, making Cordelia, Mallory, and Myrtle stare in awe at how lovely they sounded together. Misty, enchanted by the lyrics and their interpretation, stood up from the piano and drew out the corners of her black shawl, twirling as homage to her favorite singer. However, she did it slowly, and Elijah's eyes followed her graceful movements as Cordelia stood and applauded.

"That was beautiful. Welcome, Elijah."

"Good to be here. I need your help, frankly."

"So, you are agreeing to perform Tempus Infinituum?" Myrtle questioned, smoking a cigarillo attached to a holder, blowing smoke out into the air. Elijah looked down and sighed.

"I am considering that, but I have an even bigger problem."

"Your son."

"Yes. You were right, Cordelia. Anathem is _truly_ a danger. My dear Dessi woke me and my Queen up to tell us what she found," Elijah said. "A horrible secret he's been hiding from us. It was on a device Dessi stole from the Cooperative… my Queen and I listened to the device and… she said that he can _destroy souls_." He paused.

"Destroy souls?" Cordelia questioned, her curiosity peaked.

"They just… cease to exist. They don't go anywhere. They are just _gone_ …and to know he _hid_ this from us," Elijah pondered, "is… disheartening."

"He was going to kill you all," Madison said. "It's pretty obvious. You should try to kill him off if he's that dangerous to be kept alive."

"Someone like that may have powers unimaginable, like the Antichrist," Myrtle mused. "He is Michael reincarnate."

"You are only half of us, and half demon," Cordelia said, walking toward him. "You could do this endeavor with _ease_ , I just know it."

"Going back in time?"

"Yes."

"But… what exactly would I be doing if I were to go back?" Elijah asked.

"Kill Michael Langdon," Mallory said, standing up and facing her son. Elijah looked down and then into his mother's revitalized visage, into her great brown eyes. He put his hands to the sides of her upper arms.

"Mom… if I go back in time to kill my father, that means… I won't exist. My Queen won't exist, nor will Desdemona," he thought aloud.

"That is not necessarily true," Mallory said. "You could exist as someone else entirely. Same for… Her Majesty."

"You could be a warlock," Myrtle suggested, standing up and puffing from her cigarillo. "And perhaps Melanie could be one of _our_ girls, learning alongside us."

"I know it will prevent that _abomination_ son of mine from being born," Elijah mused.

"Certainly," Mallory nodded.

"Do you have the spell written somewhere?"

"It is in a book."

"Where is it?"

"We will bring it with us," Myrtle said.

"Where?"

"You'll need to bring us back into the mortal coil for us to truly help you, Elijah," Cordelia said, clasping her hands down in front of her.

" _How_? Where are your physical bodies?"

"Nothing but ash," Madison said facetiously. "You don't need that, though. You're the son of the Antichrist. He brought me and Queenie back without needing our bodies."

"You need to try," Cordelia said, looking at Elijah, her dark eyes catching his full attention. "It is your only chance to undo everything."

Elijah thought for a moment: "is this all really worth tossing the life I know away?"

"To restore the natural order, yes," Myrtle said.

"But my Queen-"

"Are you that selfish, that love is all you can think about? Why don't you do something by _yourself_ for a change?" Myrtle scolded lightly.

"Can I take her with me when I go back?"

"This is a one-person operation," Mallory stated. "All of us are going with you to help you with this, and hopefully to fight Anathem."

Misty, who was still standing wrapped in her shawl from twirling in it, looked at Mallory and shook her head: " _All_ of us are goin'?"

"It is advisable," Cordelia stated to her beloved sister.

"Please, Miss Cordelia… don't make me go back to that _awful_ place. I spent enough time there. Also, please don't make Stevie go!" she begged, then she turned to Elijah, taking his hand and feeling his intense vibrations. "Elijah, you are a sweet boy… and I would help but…"

"I understand, Your Infernal Majesty…" He corrected himself. "I mean… _Misty_. I understand. You don't have to go back, I will not make you." He looked to Stevie and smiled. "As much as I would _love_ for you to sing for my Queen and I."

Elijah knew that with this exclusion, it was best he had to choose which of the witches should come back with him to the mortal coil, in the kingdom of Regnum Infernale. He looked to his mother, Mallory, knowing full well that she was proficient enough with the task of Tempus Infinituum to help him. He also looked at Cordelia, the Supreme before him, and then to Myrtle. He also sensed that Madison was fit for the job as well. He pointed at each of them and nodded, selecting each witch carefully.

"You all are coming to the mortal coil with me. However, upon your arrival, we will need to make you… _invisible_ somehow. You cannot be seen," he declared.

"Melanie doesn't know about the plan?" Cordelia asked.

"No. She would _not_ want me to reverse time. However, she _does_ know of a plan we have involving putting the tiniest bit of Vatican holy water in Anathem's food so he is subdued enough for us to perform an identity spell," Elijah replied.

"That shit is deadly to demons," Queenie said.

"I know, which is why we are only putting a tiny amount for a sedative effect. Hopefully in the process, I can perform tempus infinituum," the King told the witches.

"What are we waiting for?" Madison asked.

* * *

Elijah woke up from his slumber and looked around, noticing there was a huge clump of black ash in his right fist. He noticed that Melanie was still asleep beside him, and he snapped his fingers with his left hand with pure intent to keep her in a deeper sleep than before. With his right hand, he released the ash into the air, and it formulated into four female bodies that were lying on the floor, fully clothed as they were in his dream. Madison was the first to rise, and then Mallory, and soon after Cordelia, who had to help elderly Myrtle to her feet. As Myrtle got up with Cordelia holding her hand and arm, she grunted a little but remembered she needed to stay silent. In her hand we was holding the book containing the procedure for Tempus Infinituum as promised, and Elijah chanted a few words on cue to make them temporarily invisible to the eye:

" _Draco illam cicada, detraxeris versipelli visus,_

 _Nubibus praecipiam mare._

 _Concurrere et in caligine._

 _Ego lux in misce._

 _Radius refringeretur, a tergo circum me…_ "

Madison rolled her eyes and whispered: "what now?"

"Come with me," he replied quietly. "You will all stay in one suite."

They ventured out of the royal suite and went into the elevator, going down a few levels to the third floor, where they were shown a normal-sized suite by their King. Myrtle looked around the place; while it looked quite modern, the plainness was enough to make her say something.

"Ugh, for a _utopia_ , you'd think that you could have nicer décor!"

"It's what I am giving you to stay in," Elijah said. "After all, you want to complete a goal as well."

"It'll do, Elijah. Thank you," Mallory said. "What memories living here again."

"I'm so sorry they were not very pleasant, mom," her son replied.

"When's that invisibility spell going to wear off?" Madison questioned.

"In a few hours. It won't be long."

"Will we get to meet the Queen even if it has to do with Anathem?" Cordelia asked.

"Yes. I hope you will," the King said, "and when you address her, _please_ use 'Your Infernal Majesty'. If you meet my Desdemona, she is Her Infernal Highness."

"Very well," Myrtle said.

* * *

Later that day, Melanie returned to the suite after a trip to the Cooperative branch. Her mission, remembering what she discussed with Elijah in what to do about Anathem, was to procure some of the Vatican holy water that was going to be used in the study on the demonic spawn. She wore satin gloves along with her ensemble not just to add style, but as a secure measure. She knew that this substance could potentially be deadly even if it touched her skin. It was sealed tightly in a glass vial with a golden screw top, and she could see through the patterned glass that there was an eye dropper. _Perfect for the task_ , she thought.

Upon entering the suite, she was taken aback by the four strange yet very familiar women in the living area. She gasped, and saw Elijah standing with them, and he immediately approached her. He kissed her cheek affectionately and smiled proudly.

"My Queen," he began.

"Are they… _witches_?" she asked.

"We are," Madison said. "Back from the dead. Again."

" _How_ , though? You all died in the blasts. There were no bodies," Melanie said, looking at the young woman.

"We've been appearing to your King in dreams, dear bird," Myrtle said with a smirk. "We have been guiding him to make decisions regarding the _future_ of your kingdom, and the safety of your people."

Melanie could almost sense meaning behind her emphasis on "future", but it seems like Myrtle was proficient enough to block out her lectio animo. It seemed to be the same for Cordelia and Mallory, who she smiled at, remembering her from her youth.

"They are the ones I've been telling you about," Elijah said. "All of the strange dreams?"

"He can astral project to other realms," Cordelia added. "Notably in his sleep. Up until this morning, we were all stuck in limbo in an afterlife with the likeness of our academy, the home base for our coven."

"The house in which you were born, Your… _Infernal Majesty_ ," Myrtle said, trying to say the correct form of address for the Queen.

"I do remember. Misty was my mother…" Melanie said. "Is she here, too?"

"I followed your wishes, and hers," Elijah said. "Her soul is at peace. Her… favorite singer, Stevie Nicks is her name, is there with her."

Melanie sighed with relief, a tearful smile coming to her face: "I am _so happy_ my mother is finally happy and at peace. She suffered so much with my father as King…" She paused and sniffled. "I procured what we needed."

She took out the small, patterned-glass bottle of Vatican holy water, and Myrtle went up to it, her gloved hand touching the bottle and admiring the detailing.

"Vatican holy water," she said silently with fascination. "How ever did you procure this?"

"The Cooperative has a little of everything from the old world in storage," Melanie explained. "If you bear royal blood or relation, you can get whatever you want from them."

"And if we're not?" Madison asked.

"You're shit out of luck. Most people get the same of everything, and even _we_ do to an extent," Melanie answered.

"So, I can't ask for a pack of cigarettes? I'm dying for one right now," the witch said, crossing her arms.

"What is 'cigarettes'?" the Queen asked – she had never seen or experienced cigarettes before, ignorant to what they were. There were none in the new world. Madison looked at her with a dropped jaw and shook her head.

"Unbelievable," she muttered.

Elijah did not like her attitude, so he approached her, and his piercing gaze was enough for her to shut up and listen to him: "do not speak to my Queen in that fashion. This is your _only_ warning."

"Madison, it doesn't seem like there are any cigarettes if they do not know what they are," Cordelia said, turning to the Queen. "Your… Infernal Majesty… a cigarette is something you smoke."

"Smoke?"

"You put it in your mouth and inhale. The feeling is quite sublime," Myrtle said, her sophisticated voice dancing. "I prefer cigarillos, myself."

"We do not have that."

Just then, Desdemona walked into the common area of the suite and eyes Cordelia, Myrtle, Madison and Mallory, but she was mostly focused on the latter with her comfortable white sleeveless dress, brown boots, celestial jewelry, and gold leaf headband adoring her light brown hair. Mallory looked back at Desdemona, taking in her attractive, fresh-faced appearance from her long, straight light blonde locks to her heart-shaped face and feline-shaped blue eyes framed with bright red pigment; right then she could have sworn she saw some green glimmering. She was not much taller than her, as Mallory herself stood five-foot-one.

"Who are you?" Desdemona's tone was curious and courteous.

"I am Mallory," the witch smiled. "It's… a pleasure to meet you, Your… Infernal Highness." She looked at Elijah, seeing the special meeting between the two.

"Dessi, do you know who this is?"

"Who?"

"She not only was one of the most _powerful_ witches of the old world but… my mother," the King told his daughter.

Desdemona's face turned to a pleasant smile, her eyes lighting up: "you're in my family?"

"Yes… you are very pretty," Mallory smiled. "How old are you?"

"Four and a half," the Princess replied, looking at how young her grandmother looked. "But you're so _young_!"

"I died young, Your Infernal-"

"If you are my grandmother, please call me Dessi," the Princess interrupted.

Mallory nodded: "of course… Dessi."

* * *

Ashley Campbell, High Priestess of the Reformed Church of Satan, was requested by Prince Anathem to oversee a ritual for him. Anathem, knowing full well he needed to be smart about undermining the conspiracy against him by his family, had the idea to summon their Creator, Satan, in a ritual. Ashley was obliged to help him with this, blessing a designated area in the Lodge for his use, as well as having a knife handy, because she knew a blood sacrifice was needed from him in order to summon the Dark Lord. The King's Blade, a kingdom relic, was used for this purpose. The ritual began with setting down candles, which he used pyrokinesis on to light them all at the same time. He was shrouded in a black robe, and he stood at the black-clothed altar, speaking aloud an invocation as he raised the King's Blade in the air:

" _I come to you, Dark Lord, shrouded in black._

 _Dungeons of stone castles laid in Christian blood hid_

 _our temple within their God's sanctuary._

 _I pay homage to the great ones in Hell,_

 _So that I may keep the mysteries of the occult alive_

 _For the true warriors of the future._

 _The knights of Templar called upon the hidden god, Pan,_

 _Our modern symbol for Baphomet…the sign of Satan!_

 _Here my call!"_

Ashley gasped when she noticed that the King's Blade became a spear of fire in Anathem's hand as he kept it raised in his invocation to the Dark Lord. The thing that separated the High Priestess from her superior was a ring of fire surrounding Anathem and the altar that rose from the candle's flames, only to subdue after a moment. _He's here_ , thought Ashley.

" _Lay my strength in the blood of our children!_

 _May our war end in victory!_

 _May humankind die off, one by one,_

 _Forming mountains of bones, and rivers of blood._

 _May my enemies cower beneath my feet,_

 _Subject to the full extent of my will and wrath._

 _I raise this chalice_ …"

He took the goblet up from the table and raised it to each of the cardinal directions, chanting aloud with Ashley in the background:

"Hail Lucifer! Hail Belial! Hail Satan! Hail Baphomet!"

Anathem took the chalice down to his lips, taking a hefty sip of the bitter wine that was contained within it. Ashley took as many steps forward needed to disrobe the Prince, removing the black shroud to reveal a leanly muscular, nude male form that kneeled on the ground with the King's Blade in hand. He took the sharp edge against the base of his wrist and dragged it upwards toward his elbow, and did the same for the other arm before taking the blade and carving a lopsided reversed pentagram into his chest. The superficial cuts burned as he made his way down to his abdomen to carve both a reversed cross and the symbol of Leviathan on his skin. He grunted, the lust for power stronger than the pain that he inflicted on himself. He kept repeating the same things, over and over, getting Satan's attention slowly and gradually.

"I call you forth, Satan… blood of my blood, creator of the demonic race… I bleed for you…" His voice grew weaker, on his knees, "I bleed for you." Then, it grew stronger, almost a scream: "FATHER! OPEN MY EYES! HELP ME TAKE DOWN MY ENEMIES AND CLAIM MY RIGHTFUL THRONE! HEAR ME! HEAR ME, FATHER SATAN! Your descendant! Your blood! Heir to your infernal kingdom on earth… HEAR ME!"

He was nearly about to faint forward, his vision and hearing going fuzzy as he heard the faint sound of slithering snakes in his vicinity. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and his blue eyes turned up to see a gray, emaciated face shrouded in all black. His eyes were pitch black, and his voice was slightly hoarse.

"My son," he said, "you need not bleed for me. The only bleeding for me that was ever done on your behalf was by your mother when she gave birth to you."

Anathem smiled up at him deviously before bowing in full submission to the only one in existence above him in authority, save for his mother and father. He was about to kiss his feet, as well, but they didn't seem to be tangible. The embodiment of Satan seemed to float like a disembodied spirit.

"Master!" he exclaimed. "You must lend your help to me. My family is trying to disinherit me, a _disgusting_ conspiracy to get my _sister_ on the throne because they like her better… please! I'll give anything to you as long as you secure my place on the throne of this great kingdom. You know that I was born to rule!"

"It is not because your parents like your sister more," Satan said. "It is because they fear the immense amount of power you have yet to unleash on this world and finish what I started."

"It's because of Desdemona they want to get me off the throne. That little bitch made them listen to my interview. What shall I do?"

"Kill them all," Satan replied with an evil cackle. "Destroy their souls so they may never come back. The current King took my head to claim his place, and so you shall as well."

"Are you telling me I have to behead my dad?" Anathem questioned.

"That is one way. You do not even have to get your hands dirty," the great demonic king said. "Make sure you kill King Elijah first, so he doesn't cry over his _Queen_."

"He is pathetic," Anathem confirmed, nearly laughing at Satan mocking his father. "He worships her before ever giving Your Infernal Excellency a thought." He paused. "But, my mom can bring people back with a simple touch."

"Kill her right after."

"And Desdemona?"

"She will be a challenge. I will not sugar coat it," Satan said. "She can negate anything you send her way. Do not underestimate her, but do not let her live if you truly want to seize the throne."

"Excellent." Anathem's voice sounded devious as he smiled with gritted teeth, his hair matted slightly over his face. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"There are witches present once again in this kingdom. They are being used against you, and they are planning another endeavor entirely… to completely erase everything I've sought after for this world."

"How?"

"Going back in time," Satan said. "You must stop them from doing so."

"What is the procedure?" Anathem questioned.

"The redheaded elder has a copy in her book. Retrieve it, and you may destroy them all." He paused, his black eyes blinking rapidly. "Rise, my son. To your feet."

Anathem did as told, and watched as all of the wounds he inflicted on himself were healed up from a simple wave of his hands over the affected areas. He looked to ensure what he was seeing was real, and sure enough it was. Satan's embodiment put both hands on his shoulders, making eye contact.

"Your Infernal Highness, it is not _your_ blood I want as an offering for my appearance and counsel tonight," Satan said.

"Then… _who_?"

"Allow me…"

Anathem's body seemed to knock back into the floor, and Ashley, watching the ritual, went over with deep concern. When she got close enough to his unconscious body, she noticed the deep wounds were now gone, healed over completely without a trace. She stood over him for about three minutes until his eyes fluttered open, pitch black as he got up from the floor, fully naked with his wares showing. Ashley looked him straight in the eyes, clad in her red robe with the white inverted pentagram decal on the front, her kinky black hair framing her dark-toned face. _He's possessed_ , she thought.

"I am using my son's body as a vessel for what I seek," Satan said through Anathem. "You have devoted your life to sanctifying this place for me, your Creator as Father, have you not?"

"Y-Yes, Satan." Ashley seemed to be fearful, looking down until Anathem's hand tilted her chin up.

"And shall you devote your life force to me, as well, my daughter." He paused, giving a direct order. "Disrobe."

Ashley did as she was told, letting the red robe fall to the floor as she took off her black boots underneath her uniform. She also removed her bra and panties, feeling slightly uncomfortable around the Prince – was this a sexual favor he was seeking? He hated women, so obviously not. Did Satan want to kill her? Probably. So, she braced herself for what was to come. She knelt before her deity on the floor in front of Anathem, who held the King's Blade to her throat and slashed it clean across, sending her to the floor to choke on her own blood and gasp for air until she died. Anathem leaned down and grabbed her by the hair and drank from the fresh wound before reaching, with inhuman force and strength, into her chest to grab her heart and tear it out, stringy fragments of arteries and veins still attached as he bit into the sinewy, gamey organ. He took his time, eating every bit of it until it was gone.

Suddenly, Anathem's body jerked forward, the embodiment of Satan coming from his bloodied mouth in the form of black smoke. The Prince, back to his normal self, seemed to choke a little bit, and the embodiment spoke before going back to his source in Hell.

"Do as I have. Take what is yours, and _own_ it."

Just then, Anathem could hear the faint sound of footsteps coming into Lodge. Using transmutation, he noped out of there faster than a hummingbird moved its wings, leaving Ashley's carcass behind for shock value and terror to whomever entered.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _Side note that the invisibility spell used by Elijah on the witches when he brings them back is a rough Latin translation of the "chameleon spell" by Silver Ravenwolf, a prominent Wiccan author. It translates to the following in English:_

 _"_ Dragon fog and chameleon sight, I command the shrouded sea. I bend the mist, I mix the light. Refract around behind us _."_ _  
_

 _Is Anathem an even bigger threat than they realize? Stay tuned for the next update! Favorite and Follow if you are enjoying this story!_


	8. Ch 8 - Test Run

**Chapter 8: Test Ru** **n**

"Damn, where is he?" Madison asked, sitting on the sofa in the compound Elijah let the witches stay in for their endeavor.

"He should be back shortly," Myrtle said, trying to remain calm.

"It's been about an hour," Cordelia mentioned. "Should we maybe-"

Suddenly, the door opened, and Elijah walked in. As it shut, he leaned against it and slid down to the floor, holding something in his hand in a poorly concealed manner as his defined face was blanched like a sheet of paper. His glacial-colored eyes lost their luster as he stared off into space. His lean form was shaking wildly, the object in his hand as Cordelia and Mallory approached him.

"Elijah? Are you alright?"

"You look like you'd seen a ghost," Myrtle added.

"I think I did," Elijah replied, being helped to his feet by the two powerful witches who approached him. They took him to sit next to Madison on the sofa, and she moved aside to give Cordelia and Mallory some room to sit with him. Mallory placed her hand on his forehead, feeling he was breaking into a cold sweat, one of fear and trepidation.

"Did you get what we needed?" Cordelia questioned.

"Yes…" He held the object, poorly covered in black fabric. "I have his skull for the main event."

"What did you see that's got you so scared?" Madison asked, sitting up on the sofa next to them.

Elijah shook his head: "Ashley Campbell, our half-sister and High Priestess, is dead." He paused. "She was… disrobed in the Lodge… covered in blood… her heart was ripped from her chest. Her throat was cut…" He looked to Cordelia, into her deep brown eyes. "I think he killed her, to spite me. He _knows_ something is up."

"We have to hurry," Cordelia said. "For the test run, you need to stay calm. We will give you as much time as you need, Elijah."

"I don't know if I'm up for it."

"We must hurry," Myrtle said. "If the Prince knows something is up, we have to take him by surprise. We have to march four feet ahead of him."

"You're right, Auntie Myrtle," Cordelia said, patting Elijah's shoulder.

* * *

It took a total of two hours for Elijah to compose himself, and Myrtle took the liberty of even brewing some tea for him. It helped him soothe his nerves more and more, making him more confident for the first attempt at changing the tides of time with Tempus Infinituum. He heard water being run in the bathtub in the bathroom, and he stood up to walk toward the doorway, where Mallory was feeling the water for herself. She looked back at her son and smiled slightly, standing up and approaching him.

"I attempted this," she said. "I tried to save Grand Duchess Anastasia from being killed by the Bolsheviks."

"Who? Grand _Duchess_?" Elijah asked, intrigued by the title. "Of which kingdom? Was she royal?"

"Of the Russian Empire, dear," Myrtle said. "To be a fly on the wall at the Winter Palace when her sister, Olga, danced the polonaise with Prince Saltykov."

Elijah noticed she was in a reverie, which she snapped out of when she handed him what looked to be a ring. He looked down it, inspecting every detail and noticing it was a gold setting with lattice interwoven. On the top, where a diamond would have been, was what looked to be a silver egg with intricate patterns in the shiny metal. Cordelia, Mallory and Myrtle saw him become immersed in admiring every fine detail.

"This was not hers, though it is a _beautiful_ piece," Elijah said smiling with his intense eyes fixed on the ring. "A piece fit for my Queen, even."

"Correct. It was not Grand Duchess Anastasia's. It belonged to famed Tejano singer, Selena Quintanilla-Perez," Myrtle said, the Spanish name rolling off her tongue flawlessly and entrancing him. "Young Selena was a tragedy in the making, conveying the lesson to take care in who you trust, no matter how close someone is to you. You see, Selena began singing as a small girl, and her father even organized a band with her and her siblings. When she was a teenager, her fame only grew, and by twenty-one, she married her true love, her lead guitarist."

"Married?" Elijah never experienced such a thing.

"Yes, when you join with someone," Cordelia explained.

"Like I am with my Queen. She picked me as her consort," Elijah wondered.

"Yes, it is like that, but marriage is more of a piece of paper saying you are one than anything else," Myrtle said. He raised his eyebrows as she continued to explain some backstory of the deceased Latina star. "The ring you were given was a gift from her friend, Yolanda Saldivar, who also managed her fan club. However, Yolanda was not the friend Selena had found. She was an underhanded thief, embezzling funds from not only the fan club, but also Selena's other businesses. On March 31, 1995, Selena went to confront her once-trusted friend, and was met with a bullet. The ring you have in your hand was found in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and given to her widower."

Elijah was deeply moved by the short story about Selena, even more moved by the fact that her widower, Chris Perez, lived many years in mourning for his lost love. Even though the man likely died in the blasts and joined his wife in the afterlife, he could not help but empathize with the situation, sighing and nodding as he nearly teared up.

"That poor man must have lived in sorrow for many years," he pondered sadly.

"He did. He loved her so much," Myrtle said, "that his second marriage did not last."

"I would be very happy to revert that period of time," he said confidently. "I could never be without my Queen. If she were to go before me due to age, I would go with her."

"Before you go," Mallory said. "You must know a few things."

"Yes, mom?"

"First thing, Selena was the singer of the song that you danced with Melanie to that day. Remember we gave her blue flowers for her birthday?"

Elijah thought for a moment, and remembered his Queen, a Princess back then, in her long, red velvet dress dancing with her to a slow tune. He smiled and nodded: "I remember. That was Selena?"

"Yes."

"Oh my, even more of a reason. I liked that song. I could maybe bring her back here to sing for my Queen and I."

"Also," Mallory continued, "know that nothing ever truly dies. We are all made of energy, and energy can neither be created nor destroyed. It can only be transformed from one form to another. The trick in using Tempus Infinituum is to be able to go back in time and pick the right moment, and let it play out from there. The battle between good and evil never ends. The Devil never stops trying. He is not one to give up easily. In changing the past, a part of you will always wonder what that means for the future. You know full well that there is great power in changing someone's fate, though it is strange to know you have that power, Elijah."

Taking her words into consideration, it fueled his desire even more to perform the test run of the dangerous, uber-rare power. Myrtle opened the book that she promised to bring from the realm in limbo, and she opened it, sitting on the closed toilet lid while Cordelia and Mallory sat around the bathtub. They helped Elijah get in, stripped down to his underwear ad he admired the peculiar ring once more as he sat down in the frigid water. He shivered, and looked at Myrtle as she spoke calmly.

"Close your eyes and take deep breaths. Let my voice guide you. Shed your ego," she said. "Disengage from this realm of existence. Focus your energy on the ring. Place yourself on that day, in the parking lot outside of the Days Inn Motel, right when Selena pulls in."

Then, Cordelia, Myrtle and Mallory all began to chant in unison. Elijah, focused entirely on the ring he could barely fit on his pinky finger, heard " _balneum infinitum, dona salui conductus_ " said in complete unison. Little did he know that the water around his half-naked body started to bubble and turn pitch black before he felt a hand push his head under the water, into the past nearly forty years before.

* * *

 _ **March 31, 1995**_

 _ **Corpus Christi, Texas**_

Elijah looked around at the very strange place he was in – the sun was up, and seemed to blind him. Most intriguing of all was the fact that he was breathing _real_ air outside of the bubble their called their kingdom. He took in deep breaths of it, smelling the slight odor of gasoline and exhaust. He was near a few landscaped bushes when he turned to see a Mack truck beep its horn because he happened to be on the edge of the road. He nearly let out a scream at the behemoth riding down the road, and saw smaller versions of the vehicle driving. Elijah's eyes suddenly fixed on a bright red car, a Porsche, pulling into the parking lot of the Days Inn Motel, where the tragedy took place all those years ago; but then became now as he saw who came out of the vehicle.

It was a woman, and the first thing he noticed was the high ponytail fastened with her raven black, curly locks. She was clad in what looked to be a gray t-shirt with a pair of denim jeans and white sneakers. Elijah knew full well this was Selena, dressed down to avoid attention from fans or otherwise, and so he approached her with full confidence, and she looked at him; her skin was a smooth, olive color and her eyes were black as night, framed by perfectly done eyebrows. She was a beauty, probably the second most beautiful woman he had seen aside from Melanie.

"Excuse me, are you Selena?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, sounding annoyed. "I'm quite busy. I'll sign an autograph later."

"You cannot be here right now. That woman in there is going to kill you," Elijah revealed bluntly. "You cannot go in there."

The star's eyes widened in shock at the stranger: "excuse me, _how_ do you know what I'm doing?"

He thought of a response quickly: "I just know. I have a bad feeling." He paused. "She's been taking money from you, and you just found out but-"

Selena Quintanilla-Perez was in shock: "how do you _know_ all of this? Do _I_ know you? Have I told you my business? Or are you a friend of my brother?"

"No… I just know. I don't know _how_ ," he fibbed, "I just do. I cannot explain it, but I can explain that if you go in there to meet her, you will die. Your love will live for years in endless misery from what is about to happen. At least let me go in with you. If she sees a _man_ with you, she will not harm you."

The singer was dumbfounded and nearly teared up by how much this stranger knew about her situation. She had not even told him anything, and she highly doubted that he knew any of the Quintanilla family to gain such knowledge about what was happening with the embezzlement of money from the fan club, her boutique and salon. She looked down and sighed, and Elijah confidently, in his kingly manner, spoke to her and maintained eye contact.

"Selena, I myself enjoy your music, as do many. Plus, you are lovely," he said. "I am not intending to flirt, as I have a Queen myself." He cleared his throat. "Please, allow me in where you have to be."

The singer agreed with a nod: "what is your name?"

He thought for a moment: "Elijah Langdon, at your service."

Selena led Elijah to the motel room where Yolanda Saldivar had invited her to negotiate over the financial papers that the latter had delayed giving her. She had lied and said she was sexually assaulted in Mexico during her trip there, but Selena took her to the hospital a few days before and there was no sign of any rape ever having taken place. They walked to the door to room 158, and Selena knocked. Answering the door was a small, middle-aged Latina woman that Elijah nearly grimaced at. She had a pudgy face, a wide, pug-like nose, and short, curly dark hair on top of her head, barely brushed. Her small, downturned black eyes were ominous, but Elijah knew that when she saw him, all bets were off.

"Yolanda, where are the papers?" Selena asked, entering the room.

"Why is _he_ here?" the small, older woman asked, Elijah's glacial eyes narrowing at her intensely and keeping a watch on her.

"Never mind why he is here. Where are my damn papers?"

"Here."

Yolanda dropped a satchel on the bed, and Selena leaned down to pick it up. Looking inside, she saw the financial statements that her once-trusted friend had stolen while embezzling funds from her. The star was enraged, and without letting it distract from his gaze on Yolanda, he could feel her seething inside. Yet it all came out as mere tears.

"I cannot believe you," she said. "I trusted you. I let you into my life. You were like a sister to me. You knew my fans mean so much to me. Without them, I would not be where I am. I cannot say anything to you except how _disgusted_ I am."

Elijah saw Selena take off a ring from her finger, presumably the one gifted to her by Yolanda, tossing it at her. At that moment, when Selena turned to go to the door, the older woman pulled out a gun and Elijah, using his powers, instinctively sabotaged the gun using telekinesis so that the firearm exploded in such a way that the bullet backfired and shot Yolanda in the face, killing her instantly as she fell back. Selena, turning around and seeing her new adversary dead on the floor, looked at Elijah, who pulled her by the hand and took the satchel out of the motel room.

"AHHHHH!"

Her screaming was shrill and bloodcurdling, and Elijah even had to get behind her to keep her conscious because she was on the verge of fainting from the shock.

"You were right! OH MY GOD! SHE WAS GOING TO KILL ME!" she shouted.

Hearing the word "God" pierced his ears more than her screaming managed to do, but he tried to calm her down. A few other tenants to the motel came from across the way to see what the commotion was all about. Elijah looked at them and waved his hand, using concilium to make them turn away. Selena was on the ground, sitting as the demonic king from the future sat beside her.

"W-What just happened? It blew up in her _face_!" Selena sobbed.

"You have nothing to worry about," Elijah replied. "You will live on… and become a _legend_."

Her black, teary eyes looked at him with fierce gratitude: "how can I _ever_ repay you, Mr. Langdon?!"

"Don't. There isn't a need, except I hope you can sing in a private show for my Queen and I one day. You have the most spectacular voice," he smirked.

* * *

 ** _Sanctum One, Regnum Infernale_**

 ** _2032_**

Elijah rose from the black, sooty bath water he had been submerged in, and Mallory was the first to be at his side, pulling him out along with Cordelia and Myrtle. He coughed water he had breathed in under his trance onto the floor, and looked back at his mother, who noticed he was not bleeding from the eyes as she once did during her first attempt. In fact, he did not have any signs of impending death on him from the dangerous magical feat. He tried to breathe, taking in air as Myrtle patted his back.

"Keep breathing," she said.

"The old world is a _strange_ place," Elijah said.

"Where is the ring?"

Elijah looked down at where he placed the peculiar ring on his pinky, only to notice it was gone. Cordelia tried to peer into the now-clear water of the bathtub and saw that it was no where to be found. She looked at Elijah with shock: had he been successful in saving the famed Tejano singer's life that fateful day?

"Elijah… where is the ring?"

"I don't know… I… I think I saved her. There is only one way to find out, though. Let's go to the radio! All of the suites have radios with touch screens. You can find any artist on there. Let's see if there were any albums released up until the fall of the old world."

All soaking wet, the King ran past his mother, Myrtle and Cordelia, and then Madison, crouching down in front of the stereo and turning it on. He typed in the name "Selena", and the witches saw his eyes widen at the wide range of singles, albums, and LPs released from the salvaged singer. There were a total of twelve studio albums (versus the original five in the erased timeline of her life), seven live albums (versus the original three), the amount of compilation albums did not change by much at twenty-five versus the original twenty. It also turned out Selena recorded music for several film soundtracks, had boxed sets released, as well as numerous remixes.

"When was the last one released?" Madison asked. "Seems like you saved her, for a _while_ anyways."

"Let's see…" Elijah looked at the list for the most recent release. "2019."

"The year the bombs fell," Cordelia remembered, sighing and knowing what it meant.

"Dear boy, it is likely she died in the blasts anyhow," Myrtle said sadly. "You made such a difference. You attempted and with _success_. This just shows that. You prolonged her life by about twenty-four years, and gave it _meaning_. Well done, Elijah!"

"I wonder what happened with her, and her love…" the King pondered.

"It is a mystery," Cordelia said. "You may not even have records of what happened to her."

"It's a shame if she died in the blasts," Elijah said. "I'd have loved to invite her to sing for my Queen and I."

"As for the plan regarding Anathem, we need to move _fast_. How about dinner this evening at your place?" Cordelia asked. "We will be your most _humble_ servants and guests."

Elijah, feeling empowered by the experience, nodded: "let's do it."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _I made sure to carefully research, as best as I could, how the day of Selena's tragic murder took place so that I could appropriately place Elijah in that place and time so he could save her. I picked her particular case because her death really was a tragedy. Someone she had trusted and loved like a sister was quick to kill her when_ she _did her wrong by stealing money from her businesses and fan club. She was just short of turning twenty-four, and to think that she could have been alive today, an international legend having transitioned from Tejano to popular music, blows my mind. I was on a Selena kick writing this, if you can't tell._

 _Anyhow... if you like this story, THANK YOU! Be sure to write a Review, Favorite and Follow, and Share with your friends who may also like American Horror Story fanfictions. This is the third and final in the series, so if you are just coming to the party, be sure to also read, in order, King of Hell (AHS: Apocalypse), as well as Daughter of Darkness (AHS: Apocalypse). _


	9. Ch 9 - Tempus Infinituum

**Chapter 9 – Tempus Infinituum**

The plan to subdue Anathem and perform the identity spell on him was all that was going to be planned for, as far as Melanie knew. In the same breath, Elijah knew he needed to fix the flow of time by travelling back to 2015 and killing his own father. He did not have as many reservations about the endeavor, as he traveled back to 1995 just hours before to save Selena Quintanilla-Perez from being shot by Yolanda Saldivar, killing the latter instead. He was disheartened to realize that while he prolonged her natural life by twenty-four years and hopefully gave it meaning, it was very likely that she died in the blasts of the apocalypse.

When Elijah returned to the royal suite with the four witches he brought to the mortal coil, he alerted Melanie that the plan needed to be enacted immediately. So, they called for the Agricultural Center to slaughter a live goat and take from it its organs to use for their meals, and their cooks prepared something else for the witches, as they were dinner guests not keen on semi-raw offal. For the occasion, a fine red wine was taken from their private reserves and served. Elijah was at one head of the royal table, while Anathem was at the other. Melanie, Desdemona, and Mallory were on one side of the table, while Cordelia, Myrtle and Madison were seated on the other side. Of course, before serving the food, Anathem's plate was set aside specifically, and Myrtle was the one left with the task of putting a single drop of Vatican holy water in his food and also his wine once it was specially poured. Luckily, the Prince came out last to eat. He had a strange, smug look on his face, especially looking at his family members, as he sat down. He picked up his fork, but found himself fiddling with his food.

"Eat, Anathem. It'll start to rot," Elijah said.

Suddenly, he saw his son sniffing and grimacing, also distracting the witches from their food. They looked at him, and Cordelia just looked at the King with a worried look. Anathem smelled the meat and then his wine, catching nothing but a foul stench from each. He took the wine glass up to his nose and inhaled, retching right then and there as he put it down. He shook his head, but Melanie was not amused at his behavior even though she knew full well that he was now aware of the plan.

"Eat! You're making a scene!" she told her son.

"It reeks of _piety_!" he growled, looking at his father as his eyes suddenly turned pitch black. "I'm not an idiot, Father. I know why these _cows_ are here, and I know what you plan to do with me. You think you can just disinherit me, your only true heir, for _her_?!" He pointed to Desdemona, whose eyes were wide with confusion; _damn it_ , she thought, _he knows. I didn't tell him or anything_.

Anathem rose from his seat, as did Elijah, facing him like it was a man-to-man talk from the other end of the table. The King was truly fearsome in that moment: "Anathem, you are an _absolute_ disgrace! You may have been our firstborn, but you are _not_ fit for the throne. I have seen firsthand the RUIN and DESTRUCTION you will bring to this kingdom. I will do all in my power and will, to ensure that you never, and I mean _EVER_ take our place when we are gone!"

Anathem never felt so angry in all his life. It was like Satan, whom he conjured for help in his endeavor to sabotage his family's conspiracy against him, was flowing through his veins, sending surges of black fire through every inch of his being. His eyes were still black, staring at his father, who looked fearlessly and confidently at him, waiting for him to strike. The witches rose from their seats slowly, but Anathem had such intense tunnel vision that he could barely notice them moving. Desdemona and Melanie were the last to rise, and the Queen held onto her daughter, prepared for what was to befall them for the spoiling of their plan. The Prince, out of nowhere, telekinetically launched all of the contents on the table, but the collective power of all the witches sent it flying back to him, but he effortlessly kept them suspended in midair to try and send back the objects, some of which were sharp knives and glass that would break on impact and cause injury.

Desdemona worked her way out of her mother's protective grip and nullified his intention entirely, sending everything to the floor, smashing to smithereens with food stuck to the shiny floor. He moved closer to his sister by way of transmutation and started by telekinetically launching all of the witches back, disheveling furniture in the open concept before he sent Elijah and Melanie back against the wall so hard, they neared unconsciousness. As for his sister, he reached down and grabbed her by the neck with both hands, choking her as his pitch-black eyes seethed. Out came his true form under his ironically-beautiful human male guise – his skin turned black as night, and around his eyes and mouth the skin seemed to peel and crack, and black claws protruded from his fingertips, his grip still hard on Desdemona's small neck. Her feline-shaped eyes were about to be bloodshot, and she struggled to breathe as she saw out-curving horns protrude from the top corners of his forehead. His long brown hair became matted, and she saw that behind him, large, tattered wings with black feathers started to grow. With one of his hands he clawed her face so hard that some skin ripped off, and Desdemona, on the brink of death from how he was choking her, used the last of her strength to telekinetically send a knife in her hand (by the handle, this time), and stab her brother right in the side of his neck. He screamed like a banshee and let go of his sister, who helplessly crawled over to her father – she knew he possessed vitalum vitalis, which would not only bring a dead person back to life, but restore life force back to a sick or injured person; in this case, she needed life force to continue fighting.

He crawled over to her, in pain from the impact, meeting her halfway and holding her in his arms. He had a flashback to when she was just a newborn, holding her, and in that moment, she was faced up at him like she was back then. Her lips were parted, and he gathered himself to breathe life into his daughter. Desdemona's eyes were no longer bloodshot, and her skin was not such a peculiar shade of gray-blue. The marks on her neck were no longer there, and the deep scratch marks afflicted to her face by Anathem that took skin off healed themselves over. From breathing life into her, he felt a little dizzy, but Desdemona helped him to his feet. By this point Madison shot all of the shards from the floor from the wine glasses and broken dishes over to Anathem, and they penetrated parts of his body. Her green-hazel eyes widened to see he was unaffected, pulling out the shards at a rapid rate only for them to heal over right after pulling them – he was in his true form, and even harder to kill this way.

"Alright, want to play rough?" he grunted, his voice demonic and nasal. "Let's play."

He looked over at Madison and raised his hand in the air, not even hesitating in causing her head to explode all over the place. Some brain matter even got on Mallory, who screamed as she watched the same fate befall Melanie, his mother. The Queen did not even have time to react – he simply raised his other hand and brought it into a fist, channeling his rage into making her head combust. In that moment, Elijah took in what happened to Melanie and Madison, but it hit him like freight train to know that his Queen was gone for good, his precious love taken from him by his own son. The odium fueled his inner fire even more, his hands turning to fists as his true form peeled from underneath his human form for the first time in nearly five years – two, tall straight horns, like that of an oryx, rose from the top of his head, and his body began to grow in size so that he went from 5"11 to 8"5, covered in black and brown fur. His eyes went from their glacial light blue to an iridescence of black and red, and once he completed his transformation, he bore two rows of perfectly-filed sharp teeth. He had tattered wings grow behind him, and he seemed to glide over to the true form of his son and tear bits and pieces of his flesh off his arms, shoulders, and his neck with his teeth. Myrtle, Cordelia and Mallory all huddled on the floor, looking at the two demonic royals going at it in horror as they saw pitch black blood staining the floor. Elijah kept biting and biting, even resorting to his tattered, sparsely-feathered wings to disable him.

"This is why you are not fit for the throne. You stole my Queen from me, and I shall steal your life from _you_ ," Elijah growled in his true form's demonic voice.

Anathem, even though some of the flesh from his true form was bitten off by his father, managed to shake him off and toss him across the room, his back hitting the wall as he collapsed to the floor near the witches. Cordelia watched tearfully as Elijah's true form faded – his wings and horns shrunk in size, his dark hair was a mess, his fair skin was no longer covered in fur, and his eyes were back to their normal color. His mouth, however, was covered in blood, and he felt a peculiar fullness in his stomach. He tried to get up, in pain and exhausted from the experience, and only saw Anathem, his appearance only half reverted to his human form with bits and pieces of flesh missing from parts of his body. He stood tall and held his hands to his sides, slowly focusing on the headless corpses of Melanie and Madison, but also on the living body of Desdemona, raising the latter to hover above the floor in the air with the corpses.

Elijah knew exactly what was in store now – he stood up and tried to use telekinesis to toss Anathem against the wall, but it was too late; the Prince had already conjured hellfire around the three bodies. Desdemona was still alive and screaming as she felt the flames consume her body, mind, and soul.

"FATHER! HELP ME! HELP ME!" was all Elijah could hear from his daughter, tears coming from his eyes and shaking his head – by the time he could get a full sob out, the souls of his Queen, Princess and Madison were all destroyed. They ceased to exist, not even reduced to ashes on the floor. He wanted to scream, but couldn't. All he felt was a gloved hand on his shoulder.

"Get the relic! We have to go now! It's time!" Myrtle explained.

"I CAN'T! MY QUEEN AND DESSI ARE GONE!" Elijah screeched.

"Is that all you can think about, boy?!" the elder witch shouted.

"Let him take me! I can't!" Elijah shouted in vain, feeling powerless against his own son.

"Elijah, I did not raise a weak son," Mallory said. "Come with us!"

"Where is Michael's skull?" Cordelia asked, seeing in the bag she had at her side containing the relic.

They heard a laugh, and a now-normalized Anathem smiling with bloodied teeth held the skull of the Antichrist up: "looking for this?"

"You give that back, you cretin!" Myrtle shouted.

"Payback for the conspiracy, bitch. I like it hot," the Prince said.

"So don't I!" Myrtle shrieked angrily. " _IGNIS!_ "

With the elder witch's declaration, Anathem burst into flames and shouted, causing him to drop the skull, causing it to shatter in several fragments as the witches moved out of the way. It seemed like he was running toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the sanctuary's outside, and his body broke through the glass, falling down below. Elijah could hear screams and expressions of shock from down below. Meanwhile, Mallory went to grab a fragment of the skull and hand it to Elijah.

"I can't do it _now_! The skull is broken!"

"You can! This is still a part of him," his mother said. "Please, let's get somewhere where there is water to do this."

"There is a pool down on the first floor," Elijah said. "We can use that."

"Quite big, but it will do. Let's go before that monster rises up again."

Sure enough, as the four entered the elevator to go down to the first floor's swimming pool in the Recreation Area of the compound, they could hear utter pandemonium outside where Anathem presumably fell to his death. When they got the floor they needed to be at, Elijah was horrified at the sound of moving, open flesh and bloodcurdling screams, as well as fire burning. Mallory was absolutely terrified at what could have been out there, and Cordelia and Myrtle led them to the pool. The lights were on in it, and Elijah, holding the remainder of the relic of his father, the Antichrist, looked at the three witches tearfully.

"I guess this is goodbye," he said sorrowfully. "You've helped me…"

"That is what we do for our Supreme," Myrtle said. "Stiff upper lip, dear boy."

"My Queen… my dear _Desdemona_ ," he sobbed. "They're all gone. I couldn't save them…my kingdom is absolutely ruined…"

Mallory felt her son's pain and started to cry with him, holding him in her arms as he wailed softly. She held the back of his head, feeling his smooth, but messy short dark hair in the process. She let him go, and he looked down at her. He kissed her on the cheek and held her hand.

"This is even more of a reason for you to go back and kill Michael," Mallory said.

"All of this chaos will be erased?" Elijah asked.

"Yes. Remember, energy is not created nor destroyed. It simply changes form."

"Fate will unite us in the past at a given point. There isn't a doubt about it," Myrtle added.

 _BANG! BANG!_ There was a silence with the loud noise against the door to the Recreation Center. _BANG!_

"You have to go. _Now_ ," Cordelia said urgently, getting Elijah into the shallow end of the pool. He shivered at the cold, and looked at the piece of the skull once more before he mustered all of his strength to get into the trance state. He did not even need Myrtle's soothing, debonair voice to lead him into the trance state needed to put himself into the past, and the water around him, once clear, turned a murky black and began to bubble up.

Before descending into the cold water, he declared with full will and intention: " _balneum infinitum, dona salui conductus…TEMPUS INFINITUUM!_ "

* * *

 _ **Los Angeles, California**_

 _ **2015**_

 _ **8:56 PM Pacific Time**_

Elijah found himself seated next to a tall, silver-toned trash can in an alley way in a suburban part of the city. It was very dark, all save for a street light at the end of the alley. He rose up, feeling more energized than he was in his home in the future with the fight against Anathem. He felt relieved in this strange world because the threat of death wasn't imminent. He started to walk down the alley way, walking past what looked to be a man holding a woman against a wall. He could not make out his face because it was concealed under the cover of a ski mask, and the woman clearly looked intimidated.

"Give me your money, bitch," the man said.

"Take it all! Please don't hurt me!" the woman answered, tossing her Prada bag over to him.

At that moment, Elijah tapped on the man's shoulder and confidently smiled: "excuse me, but you have something I need."

"Get lost!" the robber shouted, taking a knife up to his throat.

Elijah giggled at how foolish this human was, messing with what he didn't know was half-demonic spawn from the future. With minimal effort and a snap of his fingers, the man's neck snapped in a peculiar direction via Elijah's telekinesis. The woman let out a surprised scream as Elijah reached down and took the Prada bag from the now-dead robber and handed it to the woman.

"Leave and don't come back," he instructed.

"You saved my life! How can I-"

"Go, I say!" he ordered, keeping his kingly air about him as she obeyed without question. Before running off into the night down the street, he reached down to the dead robber and took off the ski mask to reveal a bald head and open, dead brown eyes with parted, stiff lips. He also took the knife that was used to threaten him, and put it on his person. He was already clad in black, so it helped him camouflage in the night even more.

From this point, he used his divination and instincts to pinpoint where young Michael Langdon was at that very moment. He was led to a small, quaint house next to a Victorian mansion, which he knew full well to stay away from as he felt the haunted aura around it. It nearly made him sick, but he hung around in front of the perfectly landscaped bushes, hearing the commotion inside the house, an old woman's voice shrieking through the thin walls and windows.

"I don't know why I keep doing what I'm doing," a young man's voice said. "I need help. I'm just a child."

"You are not a _child_! My _grandson_ is a child! I see his eyes in your eyes, I hear the remnants of his _sweet voice_ in your throat!" yelled the older woman, a light Southern drawl akin to Misty's in a harsh, fed-up tone. "You are NOT HIM! You may have somehow claimed his bed, but you are _NOT HIM_!"

Elijah heard the woman's voice turn tearful, distraught over what her grandson had become. Was this Michael when he was young and weak? He sure did not sound like a child. In fact, he seemed to age like the rest of the demonic spawn in Regnum Infernale, at three times that of a normal human.

"Please, don't be mad," the young man's voice said.

"You've made a fool of me this _entire time_ , treatin' me like the help, all the buried _rodents_ and the murdered _nannies_ , and I went along with it, thinkin' it was just a _phase_ that you were goin' through, but this is NOT a phase! This is WHO YOU ARE! It's only gonna get worse! I swear to GOD, it is NOT goin' to happen in MY house!"

"W-What do you mean?" Young Michael asked sadly.

"GET OUT!" the woman barked. Elijah could accurately hear the sound of something dropping in the house. She told him that she could not care any less if he lived out in the streets, and that she did not want him around anymore. He stood to listen more to the commotion that only escalated from that point.

"Go ahead! DO IT! PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY!" the woman suddenly barked, sounding like she was being choked. "YOU WON'T, BECAUSE YOU'RE A DAMN _COWARD_! IT'S _ALL_ YOU WILL _EVER_ BE!"

It took a few minutes for Elijah to hear footsteps coming toward the front of the house, and he looked to vaguely see a tall, teenaged-looking male with wavy, but short blond hair, and reddened, tearful light blue eyes staring off into the night. She noticed he was dressed similarly to what a subject would be wearing in Regnum Infernale, and he was barefoot. He took out the knife he stole from the dead robber and braced himself, preparing to kill his father a second time.

As he opened the gate, Elijah peered through the ski mask and down at the demonic boy, who was walking in his direction at just the right moment when he embedded the knife's blade into his chest, looking down into his identical eyes.

"Die again, fuckface," he said in an unnatural growl.

Michael collapsed to the ground, trying to hold the wound so that no blood could escape, but Elijah continued his assault, stabbing him everywhere he could; in the gut, in the shoulder, and he even made cuts on his arms and legs. The young Antichrist tried to scream, but had no strength left in his body as he bled out. Elijah stopped stabbing and stood above him like a vulture peering down at his prey.

"Take me… into the house…" Michael pleaded.

"No can do, my boy," Elijah said as though he were talking to one of his subjects. "You can tell me how you are still alive…"

"I…am alive?"

"You're making me feel bad," Elijah teased. "Stop it!"

"Why…did you hurt me?"

"Because I need to prevent what you're going to do, that's why," the infernal king said to the young version of his father.

"What…is… that?" Michael started to really die by this point.

"The chaotic kingdom of Regnum Infernale followed by the end of _this_ world," Elijah replied. "You created a monster, and _I_ created a monster as well. Now, I take the root out of the equation…" He leaned down and took the blade to Michael's throat. " _You_."

Dragging it along with pressure, Elijah nearly beheaded the young Michael as he struggled to breathe, choking on his own blood as the life left his eyes. As he took his last breath, Elijah sighed with relief. All of what Michael did was undone – starting in the very beginning as a ward of the Hawthorn Academy, saving Misty Day, kidnapping her as his human bride, the feud with the witches, the birth of Melanie Macaria Langdon, and his rise to become Head of the Cooperative to drop bombs all over the world to wipe out 98% of all life on Earth including humans. The coronation of Michael and Misty at the establishment of Regnum Infernale was also undone with his action, as well as his own birth along with John Vanderbilt, Isla Fitzgerald, Lydia Blackwell, twins Axel and Hunter Baxter, and Ashley Campbell.

At this point, Elijah looked down at his hands and noticed they were slowly becoming invisible, merely a part of the air. As his form faded, he thought about how his conquering of Michael was undone, as was the coronation of he and Melanie as King and Queen, and the births of the evil Prince Anathem and their Princess Desdemona. The chaos he left the future in was now erased, as was Elijah himself – the half-demonic King of Regnum Infernale, and first male Supreme of the Salem descendants was no more.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _Well, the first chunk of the story is now over, and unfortunately Elijah, our beloved King, is no more. Sad, but don't despair, as I plan to continue this story and have a proper ending in a fixed timeline._

 _If you enjoy and wish to see more, Reviews are appreciated, and be sure to Favorite and Follow! Thank you to everyone who has been keeping up for their support!_


	10. Ch 10 - Welcome to Hawthorn

_NOTE:_ _This chapter takes place in the first-person under Elijah's point of view._

* * *

 **Chapter 10 – Welcome to Hawthorn**

 _ **2015**_

My name is Elijah Cross, it's a pleasure to meet you. A bit about me – I work as a travel consultant, so I have seen quite a bit of the world. I was born in eastern London, England on November 15, 1985. I came here to Los Angeles with my parents when I was eleven, and I've been here ever since. I am in my office Mondays to Fridays, nine to five, and have been here for the past six years, working my _arse_ off to get a promotion. I hate my boss. He's a cunt. I just don't understand why he prefers the newcomers over me, letting them climb the ladder before I even get my foot on a rung. I love when I travel for work, but about eighty percent of the year is spent dealing with clients. I love my weekends off. I usually spend it in solitude anyhow, listening to Stevie Nicks, Selena or Seal. Call me a fruit for my music taste, but I think they are all classic.

Another thing about me, I keep to myself a lot. I have never even had a girlfriend. I think they're just scared of me, or maybe it's me in that I do not open up easily. I do have a scary gaze – I have light blue eyes, and dark brown hair, neatly combed especially for work. I've always had a deep respect for women, though. Don't even get me started about sex – I'm still a virgin. I'm thirty years old, like that film of the same title. I don't even talk about it with people because I get laughed at. I was laughed at in high school about it. I suppose that I am waiting for just the right woman to come along, that fate brings us together in the best way possible. Selena, one of my favorite singers, sings about love and devotion. I am so drawn to her songs _Dreaming of You_ and _I Could Fall in Love_. My heart breaks with joy every time.

I have seen a particular woman in my dreams for most of my childhood. I love my vivid dreams when I sleep. I am not sure if they're prophetic, but it would not shock me because I have had these other abilities since I moved to Los Angeles from London. More on that in a moment. The woman's name starts with an M, and she is _beautiful_. I still dream of her time to time. She has golden hair that frames her face, a sculpted face with high cheekbones, the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen, and she is slender. She is often in red and wearing jewelry. She exudes power and authority. I love a woman in charge. I consider myself a decent excuse for a man, but I would _love_ to worship a woman and do anything for her to keep her happy.

As I mentioned, I've had abilities most of my life. I cannot explain how or why I have them. I just do. I can move things with my mind, I can set fires without a match, and there was one time I was trying to run away from idiot bullies trying to give me a wedgie and I ended up right behind them as they chased me about. I also have this inner knowing, an intuition if you will. I not only have vivid dreams, but sometimes I feel like I am walking out of my body. The morning after, I feel like I just rose from the dead and the entire day, I am trudging through my work. There is something else I can do as well, and it manifested early in my life. I was five and our poor dog Diablo got hit by a car. The person who hit him didn't even stop to see if he was alright. He just drove on. I cried over his body, and imagined him as though he were running around, jumping about like the playful pup he was. Then I felt a tongue on my face. His wounds were healed over. He was _alive_. When my parents asked if he was alright and really hit, I lied and said to them, "no, he didn't get hit."

More recently, my life took a drastic turn. It all started when I saw the news while having my lunch break in the office break room. I remember what I had; a baloney sandwich with mustard, lettuce and ketchup. I looked up at the TV and saw the anchor speak.

" _This just in at 1:30, reports of a missing girl near the Long Beach area have been circulating the area. The parents of thirteen-year-old Kiesha Wilkins reported her missing this morning after not being home for two days. Shawna Healey has more on the story_."

That was when a photo of the missing girl appeared on screen. She was African-American with cornrows and beads. It broke me to see the mother crying for her missing, dead daughter. Yes, I said "dead" because I knew deep down that she was. Just looking at her picture, I could barely detect her life force. In fact, an image began to come to mind as to where she was. Long Beach is near water, and I could perceive her laying there on a bank. I got up, I put away the rest of my sandwich, and left. I had roughly 45 minutes left of my break, but I got out of the building as fast as I could, into my car, and I drove, letting my intuition guide me to where the girl's body was.

I was correct in my convictions. It took me a little bit to find her, but I knew I was close when I got the whiff of death just from ten feet away. It was on a bank under an overpass near the harbor. I covered my nose and approached her, her brown skin having turned a sickly pallor, her eyes closed with water coming from her nose. I knew I had to do something. She could not have been dead for long. I leaned down and looked around me before I laid my hands on her chest. I focused, imagining that the girl was alive, breathing, with a beating heart and sufficient brain function. I even wondered what happened to her, but I needed to focus. It was like the day Diablo got hit by a car and I unwittingly revived him. This here, however, was all intention. She seemed to spring back to life within minutes, and I felt a little bit dizzy. I leaned back on the rocks, and the girl looked at me.

"Where am I?"

"I… found you. You were unconscious," I told her. I could not just say I revived her. She would not believe me.

"How?"

I shook my head: "you need to go to the police, love."

"But they'll find me and kill me," the girl said worriedly.

"They will not, Kiesha," I said.

Her eyes just widened at me with confusion: "how do you know my name?"

"You were on the news during my lunch break." That was the truth. "In all seriousness, love, you should go to the police to tell them what happened to you. I'll even drive you there. I don't give a rat's fanny enough about my boss when I return."

She agreed to go with me, and she sat in my passenger seat. As I drove, I could still smell the stench of death on her body. She was alive because of me, but whenever I had to stop at a red light, she stared ahead, her eyes dead and void of expression. Her clothes were wet, but I didn't mind having to wipe off the leather seat she was sitting in afterwards. It took me a total of thirty minutes to get to the Los Angeles Police Department because of the traffic. When I got out of the car, I went to open the passenger side door and help young Kiesha out. She seemed disoriented, and I had a few odd stares my way, but I went in and stopped a police officer as he was walking, going about his daily business.

"Officer?" I asked. "I found her."

"Found who?" I near rolled my eyes as I looked down at Kiesha, who looked up at him. The police officer nodded rapidly, realizing who is was and gestured us over to what seemed to be an office.

"We need to call the family and let her know she is safe," he said, pausing for a bit. "Where _did_ you find her?"

I hesitated to speak, but I did: "on a bank. I took a walk during my lunch break near the harbor."

The police officer nodded and looked at the girl: "everything is going to be alright, Kiesha. Your mother will be here to pick you up, but you also need to tell us what happened with you. You've been gone from home for about two days now and you were reported missing just this morning." Then he looked my way. "There is not much left for you to do, except the mother may have a reward."

I shook my head vehemently: "no, I can't accept anything. I just want for her to be safe at home."

"At least have my momma meet who saved me," Kiesha said, turning around as I stood up. I checked my watch. It was almost 3PM. I knew my boss would have it out for me, but I couldn't care less.

I did stay for a while. I did catch a glimpse of the mother, the same one who cried on TV, and I heard what I assumed was a tearful reunion in the office I was sitting outside of. When they came out, the mother looked extremely overjoyed, her arm over her rescued daughter's shoulder. I nodded my head respectfully, and the mother approached me. I just sat there, interacting with her.

"You found my daughter. She's _safe_. I thank God for you," she said, excitement in her voice. Dried tears were plastered to her skin.

"I was just doing the right thing," I replied with a closed smile.

"Please accept the reward I have posted?" she begged me, taking my hand into her dark palm.

"I couldn't, ma'am," I said, shaking my head.

"Please?" the mother begged again. "I know my daughter's life is worth way more than $1500, but it's the least I could do to show my appreciation for bringing her back alive."

Poor lady – she didn't even know Kiesha was dead and I revived her. I felt so guilty taking money from her for doing what I felt was right, but at the same time, I wanted to make her happy. I caved. I accepted the $1500. Little did I know in that moment I would need it. I lived comfortably, had a small 2-bedroom house just outside the city, a decent 401k and benefits from my job. This all would be lost, however, because my arsehole boss confronted me when I got to my office at roughly an hour before we closed. I knew full well that I stayed away from the office beyond my lunch break. I had only done it that _one time_. My boss hated my arse enough, though, because the cunt came in and berated me like I was some delinquent.

"Please, I swear to _God_ , tell me you got all that work on your desk done when you were _away_ to God-knows-where," he said.

I was silent, so he tried to provoke me as I put my messenger bag down: "I'm speaking to you, Cross!"

"I know. I can explain what happened," I answered, keeping myself calm. I was good at keeping myself calm until the right buttons were pushed; or, in this case, the wrong ones.

"Someone better have been dead," that cunt said.

"Maybe they just _might_ have, had I not found them," I said, looking at him with a death stare from where I stood behind my desk. "Have you not seen the news about that missing girl?"

"What did _you_ do, Superman? Save the day?" he taunted me, throwing his hands up in the air. "Boohoo. This place comes first."

"I didn't think I would be _that_ long," I added, trying to help my case.

"Why would I give a shit about some girl? You breached company policy."

I felt my eyes widen and my voice seemed to raise itself with minimal effort: " _how_?!"

"You took too long of a lunch break. Two hours? Really?"

I rolled my eyes, and that was when my boss became visibly miffed. He picked up the pile of papers left on my desk that I was supposed to work on when I came back from lunch, but before he could really make a bloody mess, I raised my right hand, and I didn't even concentrate or think about what I was doing. My boss was sent back against the glass wall of my office room, and he looked as though he did a biggie in his drawers. I lowered my hand, and he still had that shocked expression on his face.

"You just assaulted me," he said shakily.

"I _barely_ touched you, sir!" I replied.

"You're fired!" he shouted, still against the wall.

"Cheerio, cunt!" I retorted.

I gathered my bearings and left that godforsaken place. I went into my car, and the first thing I did was stop by the liquor store to get some scotch. I was not a habitual drinker, but I needed to dumb down for a bit. I got home, and I poured myself a glass, putting on the TV and listening to the story.

" _This just in, new developments on the disappearance of Kiesha Wilkins. The girl was found alive in stable, but rough condition earlier this afternoon. She was brought into the LAPD by a good Samaritan, and her mother quickly came to retrieve her._ "

I kept listening to the news anchor, sipping my scotch, and I was shocked to learn what had happened – the girl had run away from home after a clash with her mother, and was picked up by two guys who got her drunk, raped her, and tossed her off a bridge into the water, which explains why I found her body where I did. I took the rest of my scotch down in one gulp and retired to bed for the night. I had a dream of the woman in red again. It was as though her face was covered in a fog until she came up to me, caressing my cheek. I felt my heart fluttering until I woke up. She _has_ to exist somewhere. If I am having dreams of her, then she _must_ exist in some given place or time. Perhaps I have yet to meet her? Perhaps she is my destiny?

Things remained quiet for a few days. I did not leave my home much. There was a knock at my door late Tuesday afternoon, and I was dumbfounded to find a very well-dressed gentleman on the other side of the door, the sunset only making his unique emerald brooch on his lapel shine in my face. I squinted and noticed he was black, had very short hair, and when he spoke, I could tell he was a flower. Nothing wrong with that, but not my cup of tea.

"How can I help you?" I asked.

"Are you Elijah Cross? The one who saved that girl in Long Beach recently?" His voice danced flamboyantly.

I chuckled, dumbfounded. I didn't speak to anyone about the incident, and the news seemed to leave my name out of the new developments they broadcast a few days before when I got fired: "how did you-"

"If you can brew me some coffee, I'd be happy to tell you how I know," the man said.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"I am Behold Chablis," he introduced.

I was intrigued, naturally. I let him in, and I brewed him some coffee. Setting it down in front of him, I asked if he wanted cream or sugar, but he preferred it black. He took the first sip, and looked at me with such a sassy, hot-shit expression.

"That girl was not alive when you first saw her," he told me, daintily and briefly pointing his finger at me. He was correct, but I didn't want to say anything; what if this was a conspiracy come true with what I've heard about the US government? "She was dead, and you did _something_ to her to bring her back. That is something very rare, but do you want to know how I know?"

"Please."

"I have the gift of divination," Behold revealed. "I have an inner sense of knowing things, and I am able to scry. When I did so on the day that the news report came on, I saw you clear as day bringing little Kiesha back. She was _dead_ , and you brought the life back into her body."

 _Divination_ , I thought. Could that explain why I had the same sort of inner knowing my whole life?

"What are you?" I asked. "Who sent you?"

"I came of my own free will, Elijah. Your _magic_ sent me here, as did the Hawthorn Academy for Exceptional Young Men just twenty miles outside the city. It was _hell_ to get here. It's so hot," he said, fanning himself with his hand.

"Magic?" I had read about England's history with the subject, even about Wicca and Gerald Gardner, but it seemed to ingenuine to me. Seemed like a nutter trying to get attention and credit for what Crowley did in _his_ life.

"Yes. I am a warlock," he told me, "and you are, too."

I was silent until I gulped and blurted: "a warlock?"

"Yes. Tell me, Elijah, have you had anything strange happen around you that you cannot explain?" he questioned.

This was hard to answer, but I took my time. I didn't want to give myself away, but my intuition told me this guy was serious. This was confirmed when he made a show of what looked to be powers: he put his hand over his half-drunk coffee cup and refilled it, without _any_ actual coffee or anything. I gulped even harder, and I could tell he sensed my hesitation.

"Oh, I use that all the time. I needed a refill," he said with a chuckle. "But… tell me… do you have strange things happen around you that maybe you don't tell others about?"

"I keep to myself, but… yes. I have had things happen most of my life," I said. "I was led by my intuition to that girl a few days ago during lunch break. Yes, I _did_ revive her. She was dead when I reached her. Can't have been long that she was gone. I couldn't just _tell_ people that. They'd lock me in the looney bin!"

He nodded: "what about pushing your boss with barely any effort against the wall in your office?"

That was when my heart dropped. I gulped again. "How did you know?" I raised my voice.

"Oh, your company sent us surveillance footage of you doing it. Nothing to be ashamed of. Your boss was an asshole," Behold said with an encouraging smile. "You took so many years of his crap, didn't you?"

"I did. He was a callous twat," I said in the most British way possible.

"Oh, easy," Behold said, trying to keep me calm.

"I did everything I could, busting my arse in that office. I did like to travel. I've seen most of Europe, I went to China twice, Japan once, South Africa another time… but that aside, I _hated_ that fucking job." I lightly seethed, venting. "I was never given the fucking chance to advance there. It was always the fresh-faced newcomers who had the advantage, when I, who had worked there for _years_ , was simply the afterthought." I paused. "I got fired a few days ago. Bugger said I assaulted him. I _barely_ touched him! I _barely_ even made him go back like that."

"Turn your emotion into power, Elijah. That is one thing we teach at Hawthorn," Behold said.

"It's a school? For… this thing?" I asked.

"For warlocks, yes. I personally invite you to become a part of our coven. I can understand if you want to stay in your…" I saw him look around, "little _bubble_ , but if you want to finally come into your own and finally own what you have, then please, pack your bags and come with me."

"This is my house. I own it," I said.

"It's not going anywhere," Behold joked.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I decided that this is where fate was taking me. I had these powers since I was five, and I'm thirty now. Time to learn more about myself before my ticker runs out. I grabbed my luggage set and started to pack all of my necessities. Behold was kind enough to help me, too. I packed basic toiletries, clothing, and Behold said I would need something fancy to wear for lessons. I had a nice suit, which I included in my packing. When I got outside, I looked back at my house and sighed. I was leaving this behind for a school I barely knew about until today, but fate was pulling me. I couldn't fight her. There was a car with a chauffeur outside, and we got in, putting my stuff in the boot before the forty-minute drive to this very peculiar structure. Behold and I got out of the car, and I saw that it was like a maze. I had to ask about how the inside was.

"Uh… is this a maze?"

"Underground, there is a huge compound," Behold said. "Come on, let's get your bags in."

The underground area was accessible by an elevator, in which all of my luggage _just_ fit along with Behold and I. We went down a hallway, where we saw three men standing in front of a square fire pit. One of them was intimidating, wearing a cape lined with red fabric. He looked to be Hispanic. Another one, slightly taller, looked to be that or Asian, and he wore glasses with a fine suit. The third man had eyes kind of like mine – light blue, and his hair was black and combed back. He had a black-jewel pin on his tie, and he seemed to look at me the most. I looked down.

"He's here?"

"Yes, he's here. Elijah Cross," the intimidating Hispanic man said. I looked at him and gave a shy smile, waving my hand.

"H-Hello."

"You brought back someone from the dead, a _very rare_ feat for a warlock," the Asian with the glasses said.

"And launched his boss against the wall, _barely_ trying," the man with the intense blue eyes said. I watched him light a cigarette, and Behold had something to say.

"Something must be on your mind that is grotesquely important to be stinking up this place with that cancer stick! I thought you quit!" I nearly giggled at how flamboyant Chablis sounded.

"I quit every week, you know that," the smoking warlock said. "It's been a long day."

Behold turned to me: "Elijah, this here is Ariel Augustus, Grand Chancellor of the Warlock Council." He gestured toward the Hispanic man with the red-lined cape, and I shook his hand with a cordial nod.

"Baldwin Pennypacker." That was the Asian with the glasses.

"John Henry Moore, pleased to meet you," the blue-eyed smoker said, shaking my hand.

"So, am I the only person here that's thirty?" I asked. "By young men, I'm assuming you-"

"Age doesn't matter too much, though we do have a preference for taking on warlocks younger than you," John Henry said to me. "Hence the name of our school. It's for _young men_."

"We do have one other pupil who is your age," Baldwin said. "You may have heard of him. He was a professional boxer."

"I don't keep up with boxing. Just footie," I said. I did like football very much.

"It's only appropriate he is your roommate here," Ariel said. "Behold, help him up the stairs with his bags."

He did so, helping me up the stairs. I was led to this room with two beds, and on one of them laid a tall, somewhat bulky man who did not look to be thirty. I didn't even look that old, but he looked like someone of the age of twenty-two. He had neat blond hair, and seemed to be a looker if any women were around. He was in black; black slacks, a black dress shirt, and I noticed he was gawking at a centerfold in Playboy. I sighed and looked away, but when he stood up and smiled at me, I felt this odd familiarity with him. It was like I had met him before.

"Excuse me, have we met?" I asked.

"Don't believe so," he smirked; he sounded like he had a slight Southern accent, probably from Texas. "Then again, you may know _me_."

"I'm sorry?"

"John Vanderbilt. Nice to meet you," he said, shaking my hand firmly.

"I'm sure you'll get along just fine," Behold said, looking at his student. "John, please help him settle in?"

"Of course!"

John didn't seem like a bad fellow. He came off as a bit conceited and crass, but aside from that, he was friendly. He helped me unpack and store away my empty luggage when I got finished. I, for once, made conversation with him, referring to what I was told by the instructors.

"I hear you were a boxer," I brought up.

" _Was_ ," he emphasized. "I'm shocked you don't know who I am."

"I don't follow the sport much, but…"

"You should. It's badass. I was bullied as a kid, and it gave me a way to channel my anger and frustration in a good way. Imagining punching bags as your bullies is more fun than anything," he said.

"I'll bet." I sat down on my new bed and looked at him across from me, and he leaned forward.

"I was that way up until 2012. I got time for killing a man in the ring." I couldn't believe this total stranger was telling me this. I just licked my then-dry lips.

"On accident?" I asked.

"Yup. It was an accident."

"And you still went to prison?"

"Yup. Manslaughter in Texas can get you in for two to twenty years plus a fine. Paying the fine was no problem, but the prison time was harsh. You see, it's because of my training as a professional boxer that the judge and jury basically said I was a deadly weapon. I had no defense for myself either, and I had a _damn good_ lawyer. I still got fifteen years."

My eyes widened: "and you're here. How?"

"Ariel found me, discovered me," John replied. "Apparently surveillance video was sent to this place."

"Same for me," I said. "But… what did _you_ do?"

"In the Texas State Pen in Huntsville, where I was held, there were these twin brothers serving time for robbery, Axel and Hunter Baxter. They had a long criminal history, too. These guys were _bad_ , when I tell you. I beat the shit out of 'em several times, and the guards didn't care because they _knew_ they deserved it. One even tried to pull my pants down and… you know."

"Ew," I grimaced. "I'm sorry." I just kept listening.

"I bashed his head against a wall. That fixed that," John chuckled. "What got me here, was an incident in the prison cafeteria. I was minding my business, then those two dickheads upturned my tray on my uniform. I was so pissed off. Out of nowhere, they start to attack me, bringing me on the table until I could get out of their grip, and I was eventually cornered. I sent one flying with one hand, and another on fire with the other. It was odd. I had weird experiences since I was seven, but…"

He could do the same things I could do. What were the chances? After all, this was a warlock school, where we could study and hone our natural born skills. I was alarmed and flattered all at the same time knowing John felt so comfortable speaking to me about such a personal matter. Then again, I have to consider that not everyone keeps to themselves like I do.

"By the looks of it," he added. "We are going to be really good pals."

One could only hope.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _To be clear on what happened; this is an **alternate timeline** , where Elijah is not quite the same Elijah we met, same for some of the other characters. Also, John has returned! Also, Hunter and Axel but as mentions from _his _past as a prison inmate. How ironic it is, that his human, alternate self would be in the slammer!_

 _Also, a list of the words Elijah uses in his first-person account of what happened in this chapter:_

 **Arse/arsehole** – ass, asshole

 **Miffed** – ticked off/angry

 **Biggie** – shit/poop

 **Bloody** – just a way to say "very", but in an obscene way; if you watch _Harry Potter_ , then you know Ron Weasley says this a lot

 **Nutter/looney** – crazy person

 **Twat** – a word for female genitals; a common insult in the UK

 **Bugger** – an alternative to "fucker"

 **Footie** – European football/soccer as Americans would call it

 _Of course, I am not native to the UK, just a little of my ancestry. Yet we still use some of these words in my part of the USA. Though I use the word "bugger" more affectionately and was thinking as though I would use it, for having Elijah use the word._


	11. Ch 11 - Golden Girl

_NOTE: This chapter takes place from Melanie's perspective in the first person._

* * *

 **Chapter** **10 – Golden Girl**

 _ **2015**_

Oh hello, didn't see you there. How rude of me not to introduce myself. I'm Melanie DeLongpre, proud Virginian, born and bred. I was born May 2, 1982, to Steve and Eveline DeLongpre, an oncologist and a malpractice lawyer, respectively. That being said, I was raised privileged. We were well-to-do, but not millionaires. I'm thirty-three years old, but I've done so much in my life. I was an equestrian, and still am; I love horses. I was a debutante at eighteen, I studied history at Harvard University, earning both my Bachelors and Masters degrees from the institution. I currently work as a museum curator. I live comfortably on my own in a penthouse, I own a Mercedes-Benz, and I have been to Athens and Rome to study abroad.

Sometimes, being privileged or an overachiever is difficult. Being privileged means you get to go to huge soirees, banquets, and parties, which are all nice things but _not_ in a tight evening gown. Being an overachiever means that you are constantly defined by whatever you do or achieve. One minute they are asking how your grades are, the next they are asking what you do for a living, all while secretly evaluating you in their minds, defining your worth. What about _me_ as a person? Sometimes I just feel so damn invisible. I appreciate the praises. I'm not being a bitch. It's just the truth, it's how I feel.

I also feel like there is someone inside me trying to claw out of the shell I call my body. I say this because since I was a child, starting at maybe nine, weird things have happened. I can, well, _do_ things, if that makes any sense. To put it into perspective, you may consider them to be "powers" or "abilities". In fact, one of my great-great aunts was sent to a special finishing school somewhere in the south likely because she was like me. The first thing I experienced was being able to know what was on someone's mind at any given time – this got me into trouble a few times as a child, because I would say it out loud as though the person was actually speaking to me, even though it was their _thoughts_ I was hearing. The last time I said something aloud was the time I discovered my father was having an affair with the help. He smacked me across the face and told me to keep my mouth shut or I'd be severely punished. Whatever _that_ meant. It happens quite often, even as an adult. I'll be at work, and I'll keep whatever I hear or sense to myself, but it'll usually be men gawking at our female tour guides. Men are vile pigs. I'm sure there are a few out there who are actually nice and respect women, but the ones I come across? Nope. It's probably why I don't have a family of my own yet. Though I do have dreams of this mysterious, but handsome man with dark hair and the most intense, piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. I am usually sitting, and he is at my feet, kissing them like I'm some goddess or something. I won't sugar-coat it, it is quite sweet. I don't know how I'd feel about that in real life, though.

I am also able to find things with ease if they are lost, and I have this inner knowing. I can formulate images in my mind about places faraway or even the room next to me and what it is happening in them. I am also very good at getting people to do things for me; for example, there is one superior of mine at work who asks me to review any new acquisitions, but I turn it around somehow, so _she_ is the one doing it. The next thing is really weird, ready? I have found myself in different rooms in the house when I was younger. At night, I would want to go in the kitchen for a midnight snack and I would just _appear_ there, and my father, who was taking his medications, would turn around and get startled, saying, "oh, Mel, I didn't see you there!" Now, I appear in different places at will as long as it is close enough.

There is this funny story surrounding my parents. There was a time they thought we had a poltergeist in the house because things seemed to be moving on their own. In reality, it was _me_. I can move things without touching them. Sometimes, I pull harmless pranks in public by focusing on a nearby object where there is a lot of people, and I move it. In the grocery store, I will focus on a jar of pickles or a bowl of cereal and tip them, so they fall on the floor. The best part is that if it's a jar, the store employees have to clean it up, and I go about my day.

I saved the most profound to describe for last, and I discovered it when I was at Harvard. I was walking back to my apartment from campus and I came across a beautiful bright red cardinal laying dead on the ground. It was near an oak tree, and I saw there was a thick nest up in the branches. I could hear baby birds chirping, as if they were crying for their mother. My friends had walked a few steps ahead, and they were impatient.

"Hey, get over here," one of them said.

"Just a second. I'll catch up!" I replied as they walked off.

I picked up the bird and felt sad, seeing it was bleeding. I didn't suspect it to be diseased, so I enclosed my hands around it. I closed my eyes and imagined it was alive, breathing, and its wings fluttering. I figured that I had done all these other strange things, so why not try to bring this bird back? Well, it worked _way_ better than I anticipated because the bird not only flapped its wings to show signs of life, but the wounds healed like they were never there to start. I opened my hands and saw the bird perch on my palm, and then to my finger. I fixed its tail feathers and gave it a kiss, smiling as it flew back up to its nest.

I could never tell anyone about these abilities. They wouldn't understand. I did go to a few psychics and fortune tellers throughout my twenties, but each time I'd drop money on one, I'd only be told what I wanted to hear. One I could _tell_ was a fake. I was able to read her better than she could read me. I walked out in the midpoint of the session; it was an hour I paid for. I didn't get a refund. It was $150. I didn't care much.

My life took a turning point, later I'd find for the better, when I met Billie Dean Howard. She had a Lifetime show briefly, and was well acquainted with my second-cousin in Los Angeles, Constance Langdon. I had seen her a few times in my life, and we maintained steady contact through the years. She would send me a Christmas card every year, and she attended family reunions when she could. She was a lonely woman of expensive tastes – back in the 1970s, she aspired to become an actress, but that fell through when she had a family. Constance lived a tough life, and after what she had been through, I couldn't imagine how she was still living life. Last I checked, she was fostering a young boy who was the neighbor's child, but she died while giving birth to him.

I met Billie Dean when I flew out to LA to see Constance. She was so happy to see me, and she was nice enough to let me stay at her place, and she showed me to the spare room she had. It was decent – a white-wood bed with a blue comforter and light blue walls with white wainscoting. However, even stepping foot onto the property, I felt something _so_ strange. It intensified when I made it into the spare bedroom. I had this vision, if you will, of a Catholic priest sitting upright against the footboard of the bed on the floor, his throat slashed open while a teenaged boy was playing video games on the bed. I made mention of it, starting with how I felt about the room.

"Constance?" I asked.

"What is it, dear?" she answered, putting her hands on my face. I looked up into her light brown eyes. She was always such a well-kept woman; her hair was in a stylish but brutally outdated blonde bouffant, and that day, she was wearing a 1960s-styled red dress with a raised collar and button brooch on the side of the neckline. She was near seventy years old, but still very beautiful. I sighed and looked at the bed.

"I have bad vibes," I said. "What happened in this house?"

"What do you mean?"

"A priest," I said, holding nothing back for the first time in a long time. "I can almost _see_ him sitting there, his throat cut, against the footboard."

 _She knows. What can I say to her_? I could almost hear her thoughts as though she were speaking directly to me.

"You can tell me the truth," I said rather confrontationally. "Where is t hat boy you were fostering? I notice he isn't here, and I'm no fool."

She sighed and gave a sad nod: "I'll tell you. You need to promise me-"

"I won't say anything to anyone," I replied, way ahead of her.

She brewed me some tea on the stove, and she began when she poured me my cup. I added a little sugar and honey to my cup before sipping and I noticed her start to tear up.

"You know that the last time we spoke, I had taken in a _beautiful_ baby boy," Constance said. "He was born in the house next door, to a mother and family unfortunately marked for death. His mother, as you know, died pushing him out into the world, and I gladly assumed the burden of raising him. He… also happened to be my grandson."

She never told me that part. I knew all of her children were dead – Tate, Adelaide, Beauregard, and little Rose. How could this be the case? When I asked her, she seemed to dance around the answer.

"Tate had his own way of getting the lady of the house pregnant," she said, keeping it at that as she continued. "I am the first to admit I made some mistakes before with my parenting, especially with Tate. That was why with Michael, I felt it was my last chance at a do-over. He was my _perfect_ little angel of light. He was _beautiful_ , with such a…a cheerful disposition, even though he often committed unspeakable acts."

She had me at full attention: "what do you mean?"

"I'd find dead flies in his crib with their wings ripped off. Within two years, it was rodents. I'd seen enough documentaries to know exactly what evolutionary tree he was shimmying up. Bundy and Dahmer began with animals, too, until they graduated to grander things. He said they were presents because he loved me, and his love _did_ flow. I admit it was enjoyable to have a child so committed to expressing his love to me, but I tried to introduce other avenues of expression for him. He would not cease. I would instead bury those _gifts_ along with a little piece of my soul. I tried to find a silver lining, making lemonade from lemons, and planted a rose bush on top of each one. You know, from death springs life eternal."

She was famous for her analogies and metaphors. I looked away, stirred my tea with the spoon next to the saucer and sipped, listening to her continue about Michael.

"Michael was the one who made me realize that I was put on earth to raise monsters. I thought I'd never tire of the smell of roses. They always were my favorite, but soon they made me retch. There was incident with a sitter once. He was three, I walked in to find he slashed her throat after a quick trip to the salon and grocery store. He sat in the rocking chair, fingerpainting with her blood. I had to clean it, of course. I convinced the police that she committed suicide. At least I didn't need to bury _that one_."

I pushed my tea away slowly on the table without even touching or looking at it. I was so full of horror at the fact that she hid this from the family – a psychopathic child who, at age three, had killed his nanny as well as small animals and insects. I just shook my head, but listened to her more.

"One morning, he was late getting up for preschool. He was about four. I went to wake him, and a _stranger_ was in his bed. He was still the same child, but… he'd _aged_ overnight. A _decade_. He had the body of a young man, a teenager. That was something far beyond anything in the natural realm. One night, I felt hands on my neck, and I looked up to see Michael glared down at me. He choked me, nearly to death. Then he said he couldn't control it, and he apologized, asking for a drink of water." She paused, sipping her tea and lighting a fresh cigarette. "This called for sacred intervention. I had to accept that once again, my days as a mother were at their end. I have been burdened with heartbreak my entire life… broken marriages, broken dreams, broken promises. This shattered me beyond recovery. Melanie, you were right… what you envisioned happened. He killed the priest who tried to help him."

I shook my head: "and you didn't think to give him up?"

"I didn't give him up," Constance replied. "I kicked him out shortly after that incident. Honestly, I thought if I corrected his grammar one more time, he'd slit my throat like he did with the help." She paused, looking gravely down at her tea as she dragged on the cigarette; she looked me in the eye. "I saw police lights outside," she pointed in the direction of the front of the house, "the front window, and I went out to see what the commotion was. Turns out, Michael was severely mauled outside the house moments after I kicked him out. He was stabbed _everywhere_ , his throat was slashed and he was in a puddle of his own blood. I _still_ don't who did it. The police don't either. It was like a rapid-fire hit on a… well, not-so-innocent bystander. It was a random attack. No motive has been found."

"How long ago did it happen?" I asked.

"A few weeks ago," Constance said.

"Were you questioned?"

"I was. I was asked, because he was near my property, if I knew him."

"What did you say?"

"That I didn't."

Her flat affect at what she told me disturbed me. Then again, after what she told me, I was not surprised in the slightest. I would probably do the same if I had a psychopath child living under my roof, or at the very least get him some good mental health care. She seemed to wipe the residue of tears from her eyes, and she spoke again.

"You didn't want your tea?"

"I'm sorry, Constance," I answered, trying to be polite. "I just… lost my need to have any tea… or an _appetite_."

"Shame," she muttered, putting out the cigarette in what was left of her tea. "I could tell you didn't even need to touch it to move it. What was that?"

I widened my eyes and shook my head: "w-what do you mean?"

"I just told you the truth," Constance said, taking my cup and saucer and putting it in the sink with hers. "Now, you are going to return the favor."

What was I going to do? I know that Constance was a Christian, and my parents were. We went to church every Sunday when I was a child. I didn't want to be ousted because of what I could do. I gave in. Fair was fair.

"I… _did_ move it without touching it," I confessed, looking down at my hands. "I'm sorry, it's… weird for me to talk about things."

"I've had my fair share of strange experiences," Constance told me with a light laugh. "I have an inner knowing of things, and I can detect danger before it strikes. I even could tell when the neighbor was pregnant with Michael."

I raised my eyebrow: "really?"

"Yes, a… a precognition, if you will. The neighbor, Ben Harmon, had this strange sleepwalking habit. I found myself going to the house on intuition to see if he was alright. He had his hand over the pilot of the stove, burning his skin."

"While sleeping?" I was in shock.

"The strangest things happen when you are sleepwalking." She paused and looked at me.

That's when everything came out – anecdotes I told you about earlier; how I seemed to read my father's mind to find out about his affair with our maid, the other time I brought back the dead cardinal at Harvard, how I can go place to place without actually walking or running, and how I am using it often at work with care so that no one finds me out, how my parents thought there was a poltergeist in our house in Virginia because things seemed to move on their own, but it was actually me doing the same thing as I did a few minutes before with the tea cup. I saw her eyes widen, and that was when she mentioned Billie Dean Howard.

"She is coming over tonight for dinner," she revealed.

"I know her. She's on Lifetime. I can't say I take her seriously," I told her, "because every experience with a psychic I have had has been an absolute dud."

"Billie Dean is the real deal," she said. "She hasn't done very much since that unaired Halloween special at the Hotel Cortez."

I remembered that – I was able to see the footage on YouTube. It was disturbing, but I found it funny because it was so dramatic.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Fast forward to that evening. She arrived at six, and I had showered and freshened up. I brushed my blonde waves, I put on a little makeup, and I was wearing a black midi dress with long sleeves and my nice pair of Gucci Marmont Kiltie loafers with gold leafing at the toe. I went toward the front of the house to be present when Billie Dean arrived, and it reminded me of whenever we had guests over during my childhood and teenage years. She was dressed well, just like in the Lifetime show I would laugh at. She was clad in a beautiful peach silk blouse with pearlescent buttons, and she wore a string of pearls around her neck, complete with black dress pants and a pair of loafers similar to mine. She gave Constance a hug, and then looked at me with wide, brown eyes. May I add that her hair was on point, golden and curled toward the bottom.

"And who is this?" She sounded friendly, looking to my second cousin.

"Oh, allow me to introduce Melanie DeLongpre," Constance smiled. "She is visiting for the week from Virginia. We are distant cousins. I'm related to the DeLongpre's on my mother's side, as you know."

"Ah, yes," Billie Dean said. It made me cringe to think of my days as a debutante, but one thing I learned was proper manners. It made me more refined and I was grateful, but I still can't shake off the memory of being in that tight evening gown.

I went up to her and shook her hand, and said in the most Southern way possible: "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Howard."

"And I am pleased to make yours," she answered.

"I'll go get some Cabernet out," Constance offered. "Make yourself even more acquainted."

She walked out of the room, and Billie Dean seemed to wait until she was completely out to say what she was going to next: "it isn't everyday I meet a _witch_."

I was offended: "why are you calling me _that_?"

"Your aura," she told me. "You are special. You are _gifted_. Perhaps we can talk more about it at dinner."

"I don't think-"

"Melanie?" Constance called me, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses from the rims. "Could you please come help?"

I nodded, "sure."

As I was helping, which turned out to be with setting the table and preparing the meal, the word resonated through my mind. _Witch_. The very types of women hanged in Salem in 1692 and burned in continental Europe. _Witch_. The name used for women who challenged the status quo of a patriarchal society (that was mentioned in Ashley Campbell's new book; I'm a _huge_ fan of her work). _Witch_. The term used for the old hag in the gingerbread cottage who cursed you if you looked at her wrong. _Witch_. The necromancer from the Bible who hailed from Endor who, under the orders of King Saul, summoned the spirit of the prophet Samuel. I didn't want to be known as that. I didn't even _look_ the part. Or maybe I could be Glinda from the _Wizard of Oz_. Or one of the Owens sisters from _Practical Magic_. So, we got the meal prepared and I was the last to sit down. Saying grace was something Constance told me was going to be done at her house before I visited, so I respected the house rules. Billie Dean joined as well.

"Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive through thy bounty, and through Christ our Lord. Amen."

I took my first bite of food and washed it down with some wine. Billie Dean's eyes smiled at me. She was fascinated, I could tell. She spoke shortly after.

"Constance," she said, "I was telling Melanie about how special she is."

"I'm sure she knows," my second-cousin said with a smile.

"You have an inner knowing, the ability to divine," Billie Dean said. I slowly chewed what I had in my mouth and slowly brought my wine to my lips; she was more accurate than those charlatans who called themselves psychics. I was starting to believe it now, and this belief only got stronger as she continued: "you also can read people's very souls to extract the truth. You are proficient at getting other people to do things for you even if they wouldn't by their _own_ free will. You are also able to perform transmutation, and telekinesis, and… you have an even _rarer_ gift. It is called resurgence."

I took in a slow, sharp inhalation from my nose, smelling the leftover cigarette stink in the kitchen from when Constance smoked last.

"I knew right when I stepped foot into this house that you are indeed a witch, Melanie. You are special. Believe me when I tell you that," she added.

I was speechless, and I looked at Constance, who put a second helping of mashed potatoes on her plate.

"I am a good Christian, but Jesus H. Christ, a _witch_?" she inquired incredulously. "We haven't seen one in the family since 1890. Mimi DeLongpre."

"She was sent to a finishing school because of strange things like this," I said. "My father told me when I was looking at a really old family album with him. I was eleven. He never mentioned her again."

"She was sent to Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies down in New Orleans," Billie Dean said, sipping her wine and cutting her chicken thigh. "A school for girls like _you_."

"It wouldn't shock me, but to be honest, Miss Howard, I don't look the part to be a witch. Don't you agree?" I wanted her to humor me more. After all, she just put to rest any skepticisms I had toward her and her supposed psychic abilities.

"You don't have to _look_ like _anything_ to be a witch. Witches are normal people, just like you and I, or even Constance," the famed medium informed me. "In fact, the current Supreme I happen to know personally. I could give you a copy of her card."

"Are _you_ a witch?" I asked bluntly.

She shook her head: "no. Just a medium, and a psychic. I almost went when my abilities started to awaken. I was twenty-five years old. Out of the blue, my cleaning lady shows up when I am brushing my teeth. She was not wearing her rubber gloves and she did not have a cleaning brush. She was naked and bloody. Her husband killed her with an ice pick."

I grimaced and nearly shivered. I had heard enough about death in a day.

"I'll take her information after dinner," I relucted.

And so began to escalate the turning point in my life. The next day, I debated on whether to call Cordelia Goode, the name on the card Billie Dean gave me the night before. I was so "in" my comfort zone: I had a good job, a nice penthouse, a Mercedes… why would I give all that up? Yet, I felt like fate was pushing me. I couldn't fight it. I even asked Constance for her advice.

"To call, or not to call," I brought up. "That is the question."

"You are a grown woman, and a _very_ special one," she answered, smiling at me from her seat on the couch. "I support any decision you feel is best for you. I always thought it be best to life my life by my own terms, and that is the same advice I will give to you. What's the harm?"

I took that as an affirmative, basically. I dialed the number on my cellphone and it dialed on the other end. It picked up on the fifth ring, and a woman's voice answered.

"Hello? Are you trying to reach Miss Robichaux's Academy?" she asked.

I took a second before responding: "uh… y-yes? Is this Miss Cordelia Goode?"

"It is. How can I help you?" she answered, a cheerful dance to her voice.

I sighed into the phone, and was silent for a minute before speaking very slowly, my nerves taking over: "my name is Melanie… and… and I was told… to contact you from a…uh… a family friend… uh… Billie Dean Howard?"

"Oh, yes. I am good friends with her. Are you interested in joining the Academy?" she asked.

"I… would much rather… uh… meet with you, and _see_ the school before I commit to anything," I answered. "You see… I've had these very weird experiences my whole life and… I am at a point, I want to try and… see where I can take them, and…maybe _control_ them? Sometimes, they happen, and I am not even thinking about it."

"What sorts of things happen to you?"

I went into it, specifying a few anecdotes. Cordelia, on the other end, seemed to nod and listen to me attentively without judgement to what I was telling her. She even giggled a bit when I told her how I move things in the grocery store to prank fellow customers.

"It seems that you are a _perfect_ fit for our school. How would you like to meet with me at the academy sometime next week?" she offered.

"I'd love to," I said. "I am with family in California right now, but…"

"Totally understandable. How about Friday afternoon at 4PM?" she asked.

"I'll get a flight to New Orleans so I'm there for that date," I said, feeling more comfortable.

"Great. What is your last name?"

"DeLongpre.

There was a pause that lasted about a full minute. I could somehow perceive she was writing it down on a planner book, but I broke the silence with a simple, "hello? Are you there, Miss Goode?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. Just…interesting, that's all."

"I'll see you then."

By the following Tuesday, I flew back to Virginia to a small work week. I took Thursday off to fly to New Orleans, and it was a round-trip ticket, so I was set to return to Virginia by the Sunday after. I had the address of the school on the card Billie Dean gave me, and I took an Uber there. I was shocked at first at how vast it was – it was a mansion more than a school. There was a grand wrought-iron fence surrounding the property and there was an overlooking arch above the gate. I looked at the gate, and it seemed to open by itself… or maybe it was me. I don't know. I walked past the open gate and up the stairs very slowly. I saw the door was closed, and I looked for a door bell. I found it and rung it twice. I heard footsteps, and a butler appeared as he opened the door. He had a strange energy about him; I hate to say it, but I think he died before. _Maybe the witches here brought him back_ , I had thought.

"Hello," he said, his pitch-black eyes looking at me. His brassy blonde hair was neatly combed.

"Hello, I'm Melanie DeLongpre. Cordelia and I have an appointment?" I requested.

He kindly ushered me in, and led me to an office. However, on the way, I could see into the rooms through the main hallway. In a dining area, it looked like a class was going on. In the living room across from that room, another lesson seemed to be taking place. I got a few curious glances, and I was seated in the office across from a desk. As I sat, I noticed there was a hardened dead moth on the table. I leaned down and poked its wing gently, but decided to take it into my hands. I opened them ever so slightly because I instinctively felt the need to blow air toward the small, dead creature. It didn't take much at all, but the moth was fully alive. It flapped its wings, and it crawled up to my finger. It tickled, and I laughed. Just as it flew away outside the open window, I heard a voice.

"I see you know a little magic."

I turned around, and my eyes widened at the sight of a tall, golden-haired woman with warm brown eyes, dressed in a floral, long-sleeved dress with a pair of heeled ankle boots and blue jewels in her earrings. She had a cordial smile, and I stood up to shake her hand.

"Oh, hello. You must be Miss Goode," I said. "It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine. Please, sit," she instructed kindly.

I sat back in my seat and she was behind the desk, flashing me a glance of familiarity. Come to think of it, she looked familiar, and not because she looked like Billie Dean Howard. She was familiar to me in a different sense, like I had known her in another life.

"Have we met before?" she asked me.

"I was about to ask the same," I smiled. "I probably just have one of those faces."

"Right…" she smirked. "So, you were referred to us by my friend Billie Dean Howard."

"Yes, last week. I was visiting my cousin in California," I answered, "so she happened to be there. They are friends. She threw all of my skepticisms about psychics out the window when I met her. I have tried to see a few throughout my twenties to see what was up with me, but I didn't find any answers. This has just been something I've lived with since I was nine."

"What a shame, you couldn't speak to anyone about it. Well, many of our girls here know that pain," Cordelia said.

"Yeah… well… that's why I'm here," I said. "I'd like to become a student here, so long as I resonate with the place after my tour."

"Of course." She stood. "Right this way."

The tour was quite basic, and she showed me that the living room was actually called the "ancestry room". The décor was very light, and white was the predominant color in the entire house. There was a class going on in there, and I was introduced casually as someone who may be joining them. That was until my eyes went to one of the paintings on the wall. It depicted a red-haired woman of about seventy smoking a cigarette and staring off into space, dressed in polka dots and hideously bright yellow gloves. She wore cat eye glasses, and just then, Cordelia told me who it was. She also struck me as familiar, as though I've known her before.

"This is Myrtle Snow," she said. "She is the greatest witch I have _ever_ known. Our coven would not have flourished if it weren't for her wisdom." She sighed. "I miss her dearly."

"She made you into who you are," I said instinctively.

I saw a tear come to her eye: "yes…" She wiped it away quickly. "You would have liked her."

"I'm sure."

Next stop was in the dining area, where a large-bodied black woman with black and red streaked hair was expressing her joy about getting on _The Price is Right_. Cordelia congratulated her on this. Then the woman, whose name was Queenie as I'd later learn, was talking about hotels she had found. One of them she described as really old, but recently renovated. I knew what she was talking about.

"No, don't go there," I said nervously, the bad vibes from her description sticking like fresh gum. "I don't know you very well, but… stay away from the Hotel Cortez."

" _That's_ the name," Queenie replied. "Are you new?"

"I'm touring the school. I'm Melanie DeLongpre," I introduced, shaking her hand.

"Say, wasn't one of our past Supremes a DeLongpre?" she asked, looking to Cordelia.

"Yes, Mimi DeLongpre. From 1899 to 1940, she was our Supreme," the blonde woman smiled.

"What's a Supreme?" I asked.

"You're looking at her," Queenie smirked. "She embodies all of the powers in the Seven Wonders." She paused. "Hey, why _not_ the Hotel Cortez?"

I was blunt and straight-forward: "because I saw disturbing footage on YouTube from the unaired episode of Billie Dean Howard's show. Plus, I _just_ got back from visiting family there and the traffic is _brutal_. Why would you travel to see miles of highway?"

Queenie nodded: "hm… well in that case, I'll just stay in Venice Beach!"

Later in the tour, I had met more of the senior witches who had been at the academy for some time. They all seemed very familiar to me – in specific, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, Mallory, Madison Montgomery (and not because she was an actress), but the one who was most familiar to me? Misty Day. This woman was about my age, and looked to be the splitting image of Stevie Nicks. Rumor has it, she was trapped in Hell for two years until Mallory got her out recently. They all seemed to surround me at the same time, looking at me and figuring out where they placed me before. I just laughed at them.

"Hey, I know you!" Coco exclaimed. She was the daughter of a billionaire and looked the part in her business-casual clothing. She looked older than me, maybe in her early forties. I knew of the Vanderbilt family but never _met_ a member of it. One of the family members was a professional boxer jailed for killing an opponent in the ring.

"You look like one of the little girls next door I used to babysit," Mallory added. She was a young woman of about twenty-two, who reminded me of an angel or a fairy with her gold-leaf headband and loose, white dress. Her claim was crazy; I was thirty-three, much older than her. "Are you _sure_ we haven't met before?"

"I can ask the same," I chuckled.

"You're only saying I'm familiar because I was in movies," Madison Montgomery said. She had attitude, and dressed the part, wearing a light brown faux fur shawl over a black bodycon dress and knee-high, spiked heel boots. She had sleek blonde hair and dark hazel-green eyes.

"Not really," I challenged playfully.

"She kinda looks like Misty!" Coco chuckled. The bohemian-styled woman was standing nearby, shyly looking at us as we interacted. I saw that she was barefoot, and her feet were quite dirty, like she had been in a garden or something. She had wild blonde curls, and I could see white feathers coming from her earrings. She wore a cream-colored shawl that went with her cream-colored maxi dress, which had a few dirt spots on it. She smelled faintly of patchouli, and I looked back at her. She smiled. "Don't you think?"

"A little. You do look very familiar," she said; she had a thick, but soft-sounding Southern accent. I didn't even sound like that. She sounded like she was from the backwoods. I had to inquire about her being dirty like that in front of a stranger.

"Are you gardening or…"

"Yeah, I'm back in the green house. I do love gardenin'. Used to do it in the swamp," Misty replied. That explained everything. She _was_ of backwoods stock. "I heard you were gonna be here, so I wanted to say hi."

"Well, _hi_ ," I replied. "Are you from Louisiana?"

"Yup. Just outside Lafayette," she answered. "And you? You from here?"

"Virginia," I answered. Just then, I could hear her thoughts: _I know her from somewhere, I can't place it. She's so familiar to me, I ain't never met her before_.

"I know, _you_ look familiar to me, too," I chuckled. Everyone just looked confused, and even Misty. I had to explain myself: "I have this thing, I can read thoughts. It's really not-"

"I can detect danger… and calories, and _gluten_ ," Coco said. "I thought I was useless, but really there isn't such a thing here. You'll fit in fine. In fact, I'd _love_ to see you join us."

"Same here," Mallory said. "I know you have so much more to develop."

From that day forth, I felt like I found my tribe. I felt so welcomed, and like I could be myself without any filters or fears of getting in trouble or judged by people. It seems like I was leaving Virginia and onto better things down in New Orleans.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _I hope you guys like what I've done with Melanie's more "human" lifetime. See what I did, making her related to Michael anyways? Crazy how changing time changes everything, and from here, we can see it unfold..._


	12. Ch 12 - The Alpha

**Chapter 12: The Alpha**

Elijah had been at the Hawthorn School for about two months when he was discovered by John Henry, Baldwin, Behold and Ariel to perform magic with ease, much better than the other students. The same went for John Vanderbilt, who often was in lessons with his roommate at the same time. The Englishman kept to himself a lot, but more was laid bare for John during their evening talks; even _that_ wasn't laying bare the full extent of his mind and what went on in it. Elijah and John, despite exhibiting more powers than their peers, were very different as students. The former was more diligent and devoted to his studies, analyzing every detail that he could about something before attempting it. He was prompt and on-time for all lessons. John, on the other hand, was seldom on time and often late, gaining just enough of an understanding needed to perform something. At the school, he was seen demonstrating pyrokinesis, salire per spatium (also known as transmutation), divination, as well as telekinesis. Elijah, by comparison, seemed to be more advanced in all of these skills, plus concilium, vitalum vitalis, and injury reversal. It is because of Elijah's unusual amount of abilities for a warlock that Ariel, John Henry, Baldwin, and Behold summoned him to a private meeting on off-hours. They did the same for John as well.

"Do you know why you were brought here?" Ariel asked.

Elijah, sitting in front of them in a black suit with a peculiar black bowtie, looked at him and shook his head. "Enlighten me."

"Normally we would evaluate you after your first year with the coven," John Henry said, "however, you have been displaying _very_ unusual powers for a _warlock_. We'd see your powers often in witches."

"You've been immersed in your studies for two months," Ariel said, "so this is to see where you stand here. Each student is assigned at a level between one and four."

"Are _you_ all fours?" the Englishman asked, his light blue eyes piercing through space toward them.

"No. You're looking at a bunch at a bunch of threes, sadly," John Henry said.

"Sixes after cocktails," joked Behold.

"A level four is a warlock we would hold as the equivalent to the female Supreme of the _other_ coven," Ariel said condescendingly. "He would be called the Alpha."

"We won't burden you with theory, no doubt you'd understand every word we are saying anyways," John Henry said, "but there has _never_ been a level four warlock in this coven."

"Let's see if he can pass level one," Behold said with a flamboyant hand gesture. "John Vanderbilt is also going to be evaluated, because he _also_ has shown more than we could ever expect from a newcomer."

* * *

Elijah felt a little uncomfortable with the fact that these evaluations were basically a competition between he and his new acquaintance. After lessons let off the next day, they were held. There were three tests, all of which when mastered, determined an Alpha Warlock's status in the coven. John and Elijah came up to each other, the instructors and High Chancellor watching them as they shook hands under the premise of being good sports.

"Best of luck, John," the former said.

"May the best man win," John replied with a cocky smirk.

The first test was that of **_sc_** ** _rying_** , their version of divination. Baldwin presided over this endeavor, and along with John Henry, Ariel and Behold, he supervised the student assigned the task. Elijah and John were not in the room at the same time. Baldwin demurely described the procedure.

"Scrying, the ability to see things on a reflective surface, things like messages, prophecies, visions," he said. "We are not looking for the next Nostradamus today. All you need to do is gaze into the mirror and tell us where we hid a particular object in this room."

For John, it was an object – the blond-haired former boxing champion walked up to the mirror and waved his hands over it to make it a little easier for him to scry. He peered into the silver glass and began to perceive something gold and shiny attached to a chain. He sighed, focusing even more to notice that it was a pocket watch, and it was hidden in the vest pocket of John Henry Moore. He turned around and looked at all of his superiors.

"It's in John Henry's pocket. It's a pocket watch," he said nonchalantly, crossing his arms. The four were able to verify this, and he was given praises.

When Elijah did it, they had hidden a book. Before Baldwin could even say the name, it came to his mind like butter, and he said it aloud: "The _Lexicon_ …" Baldwin's eyes widened and nodded, speechless at how easily this came to him. The dark-haired man with piercing eyes peered into the mirror, and within thirty seconds he was able to divine the location of the _Lexicon_ , the distinctive brown cowhide leather binding peeking out to him as he turned around and used telekinesis to take the book off the shelf and into his hands. Behold, impressed, gave a little input.

"That calls for extra credit," he smirked. "Well done."

* * *

"Next on the list is **_salire per spatium_** ," Baldwin said, introducing the next task. "The equivalent to this is transmutation. It is the act of transporting yourself instantly throughout physical space. Pick any spot in the room, and envision yourself there."

John was the first to go for his task, and he got alarmed when he saw Baldwin use telekinesis to raise a brick and dagger in the air, directed at him. "What the hell are those for? Trying to kill me?"

"No," the instructor giggled. "It's for motivation."

As the brick flew at him, he teleported to the balcony that overlooked them on the second level of the underground school. Then Baldwin fired the knife in his direction, and he teleported down to the second landing of the grand staircase. When the brick fired at him again, he teleported to be just behind John Henry Moore, tapping on his shoulder. However, the second toss of the knife was a fatal move; just when John was trying to teleport elsewhere, he got distracted and it hit him square in the chest, making him spit up blood as more of it spilled from the wound just below his heart. He lost blood and consciousness fairly quickly, and his skin turned a sickly white color. Ariel was the first to go to the collapsed student, and Elijah, who stood nearby, looked down at him.

"Elijah, please… help him," he begged the Englishman.

He got on his knees and laid the fresh corpse of John Vanderbilt down on the floor, pulling out the knife carefully and tossing it to the side. The four senior warlocks looked down at him as Elijah mustered up all of his strength to revive him. He put one hand over the wound and another over his head, blowing his life force between John's parted lips a total of three times before he sprung back to life. Elijah, feeling dizzy, fell back a little, and John Henry helped each student up to their feet. John looked down at the wound to see that while the blood and tear in his suit was present, it was healed over like it never happened. He looked at Elijah with shock, and then to Ariel.

"No, I can't be the Alpha," he said. "No more of this shit for me."

"You won't even try the third?" the Chancellor asked.

"Are you for real? I just _died_!" shouted John. "If _he_ can bring me back like he did, then he is _clearly_ the Alpha. _Not_ me."

"You'd be a level three, like us," John Henry said. "You can do scrying plus salire per spatium, but you didn't get out of the way fast enough."

"No shit," John spat. "I'll watch the next one." His hazel eyes turned to Elijah, "and you, thanks very much for saving me."

"Yes," Elijah said, permissively.

Needless to say, Elijah's turn came, and he was able to transport himself through the room effortlessly, with _out_ dying from the motivators. He even got to the ceiling and jokingly asked if he could dust up there.

* * *

Elijah and John both took a break before the next one, though the latter declared himself out of the trials. They both took tea and a light snack before they continued with Elijah's undertaking of the most challenging task at the academy.

"This final test requires not only an understanding of magic, which you undoubtedly have," Baldwin said, "but of _nature_. It is called **_stiricidium_**."

"There are molecules of water all around us," John Henry said, raising his two index fingers in the air with his wrists settled on the table. "Change the weather in this room, and turn those water molecules into _snow_."

Elijah was skeptical. It wasn't because he lacked confidence, but because they were not outdoors. How could one simply change the weather inside a confined space like they were in. Behold noticed the strange expression on his face, and the confusion behind it.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

He jerked up his light blue gaze and chuckled: "an understanding of nature? It seems _you_ all don't have one, with all due respect. How can you remain inside and create weather in a confined space? It would be more sensible to go up that elevator and _outside_."

"And make it snow in California… in August… the hottest month of the year in this part of the world?" John Henry asked with a displeased expression.

"And it's _humid_ , with _plenty_ of water molecules lingering about," Elijah challenged. "I say we try it."

"He's got a point," John chuckled, sipping his tea as he watched from the corner of the room. "Hey, why don't we fly him home to Texas and make it snow _there_? God only knows the people are sweltering hot and need to get-"

"Alright! Alright!" Ariel caved, putting his palms on the table. "We will go outside with this trial." He rolled his eyes, "perhaps it will make national headlines that there is snow in California during the summer."

All six men made their way through the halls, past the square-shaped fire pit at the main foyer, and went up the elevator of the Hawthorn School to get to ground level. The sun beat down on all of them, and John blew air from his mouth at how hot and sticky it was outside. He took off his jacket and rolled the sleeves up of his dress shirt, revealing defined forearms as he looked over at Elijah.

"Please, just… do your thing. It's hotter than Satan's ass out here," the former boxer said.

Elijah breathed in the warm, moist air, getting a feel for the environment around him as he slowly raised one, and then both arms, up into the air, focusing on the clouds above him in the clear, blue sky. He closed his eyes and imagined them coming together, as well as many of the clouds surrounding it, and the sky began to turn gray when he opened his eyes. The wind started to pick up, and it grew more frigid as minutes passed. John took the suit coat he tossed aside and put it back on, feeling a chill as the temperature outside eventually dropped to 20 degrees Fahrenheit. He looked as small beginnings of a snow storm came falling down around them all. He breathed out, his exhalation creating fog as he heard Behold's flamboyant, effeminate voice ring through the air.

"Beautiful!"

"Wow!" went Baldwin, looking up at the sky.

"Dude, that is _awesome_!" John exclaimed.

All was well until John noticed Elijah's eye roll to the back of his head, his arms still outstretched to the sky. The wind picked up even more, somewhat like a Nor'easter, and the warlocks could have sworn they heard thunder as well accompanying the snow. Then fell what looked to be sleet, and the temperature was only five degrees when the senior warlocks started to cough and nearly freeze into place.

"I…can't…breathe," Baldwin wheezed, struggling to stay warm in the frigid cold summoned by Elijah.

Ariel, noticing his colleague nearly freezing to death, held out his hand and shouted: "ENOUGH!"

Elijah's powerful weather manipulation ceased as he fell to the ground, against the light layer of snow, sleet and hail he had conjured from the sky. He saw a few drops of blood against the white substance , and put his hand to his nose to discover it was bleeding profusely. He looked down at it, and noticed the sun shine brightly overhead once again, the humidity overtaking the frigid cold, and the heat melting a good portion of the snow away. Ariel approached him and looked down, and Elijah looked up.

"My apologies," he said in a whine, his English accent wavering. "I didn't know I could do that."

"You were testing your wings," Ariel said, helping him to his feet with the non-bloodied hand. "Once you are in full control of your powers, you can _soar_. Thank you, Elijah Cross, for your participation. You've given us so much to consider." He turned to John, who looked at Elijah with concern. "And you, John Vanderbilt, thank you for what you _could_ do."

* * *

That evening, John Henry, Ariel, Behold and Baldwin gathered for their nightly meal by the fire in one of the conclaves of the underground school designated for them. They were feasting on ham, peas, and mashed potatoes with a side salad and red wine in gold-rimmed glasses. John Henry was the first to say something regarding Elijah and the trials that happened just hours earlier.

"Everyone in this room could do _some_ of what he did, but none of us can do it all," he said.

"He crushed every test, and surpassed our expectations," Ariel said with fierce pride. "He is the _most powerful_ warlock I have ever seen, and I have known a few in my lifetime."

"There's something… strange about him." John Henry's suspicious tone caught Behold's attention.

"I don't think so. I think he has a good heart and a well-meaning soul," his effeminate lisp expressed as he used hydrokinesis to refill his wine glass. "I am not afraid of him, and if I were you, I wouldn't be either. He saved that missing girl. He brought her back to life. You know I saw him do it in my scrying session, and his magic drew me to him like a _magnet_."

"That's what I am referring to. Not _one_ warlock in history, from my memory, has had the power to resurrect or use vitalum vitalis," John Henry stated, sipping his wine, "let alone with minimal effort, like we saw him do today."

"It wore him out," Baldwin added, taking a bite from his plate. "You saw he got dizzy after bringing John Vanderbilt back. I felt bad for him."

"John is another story entirely," Ariel said. "I know that both he and Elijah are powerful, even though they've only been with us two months. Elijah surpasses him by far."

"He's at our level. Level three," Behold said. "I can hardly believe it. He can scry and perform salire per spatium."

"He didn't get out of the way fast enough," John Henry said wearily, tired of hearing it.

"Elijah is our Alpha, nonetheless," Ariel declared fiercely, his small dark eyes looking at everyone. "We have an obligation to our kind, and the future, to see if he can rise and lead us to our rightful place. We cannot stop now. This is the _cusp_."

"I wonder if he is able to pass the Seven Wonders," Baldwin mused. "He can perform vitalum vitalis, and during his time here, I've seen him use telekinesis, concilium, salire per spatium like he did today, he's used pyrokinesis, and last but not least, _he read my mind_ before I could even tell him what he needed to find today. Divination. Make him do descensum, and I'm sure he will pass and thus take the Supreme over."

"One thing at a time," Behold said with a smile, "one thing at a time."

* * *

John was miraculously not feeling any pain from his brief death earlier. He sat up in his bed, reading the _Lexicon_ that Elijah successfully found during his trials that day. The latter was nice enough to let the curious John read it, even though he could not fully understand the contents in depth. The dark-haired, new Alpha Warlock was laying on his side when John took a break from scanning the mysterious grimoire to look at him.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Dinner got your gut in a frenzy?"

"No," Elijah said curtly.

John closed the _Lexicon_ and put it on the nightstand that was between their beds. He sat off the edge of it, and looked at him intently: "well… I do want to thank you again for bringing me back earlier. I…don't know how I can repay you."

"You don't have to," answered Elijah.

"Something's on your mind," detected John. "Doesn't take an _Alpha_ to know that. Tell me what's going on. Maybe I can… _help_ , or something. It's the _least_ I could do."

Elijah took in a deep breath: "I… didn't know I could do what I did today. Making it _snow_ , and then intensifying it." He paused. "I could have done serious harm to Baldwin. I don't know if I could live with myself for that."

"You didn't kill them or anything. You wanna know killing someone by accident is like, you're talking to the right person," chuckled John.

"My granddad told me when I was boy," Elijah said, "that with great power comes great responsibility. I don't know if I could ever be responsible for what my power could do. I'm just now learning how to deal with them in my life, and it's so… _hard_. It's _hard_." He paused once more, looking toward the lamp that lit their room on their bedside table. "I could tell my granddad anything, even that I brought back Diablo. I have struggled to be _normal_ my whole life, and now, I realize, there isn't such a thing. I came here because fate was knocking at my door. Quite literally."

"Diablo?" John asked.

"My dog. Black Labrador retriever. Good little bugger," Elijah said in the most British way possible. "What a name for him, though. Someone ran him over with a car when I was five. He was seven, and we had him for two years. I was crushed, so hurt to see our little pup dead like that. I went over to him, and… he came back to life. I told my granddad, and he told me that it runs in my family. I don't know _how_ far back. I don't know if he, himself, was a warlock, too, and didn't tell anyone." He took in a breath; "but he died just before I came to the States. It made the move even harder for us."

"I'm sorry," John said.

"No worries," the Englishman muttered. "You never told me how Ariel released you from prison."

"I don't even know how he did it. Some ju-ju or whatever," John answered, tossing his hand down. "He never told me what he did."

"How long did you serve of your sentence?" Elijah questioned.

"I was in from 2012 up until two months ago," John revealed. "I came a week before you did to the school."

"Three years." Elijah shook his head. "You don't _seem_ malicious."

"Tell my ex-wife that," John sneered.

"You were married?"

"Yup. She filed for divorce when I was sentenced," John said, standing up and pacing as he spoke. "Before her, my life was filled with parties and _other_ women, and travelling, not that I _didn't_ do the latter when I married her, because it was part of what I did. Sometimes she'd come along, and when our daughter was born, we'd bring her. She was a baby."

"Aw…" Elijah smiled slightly. "What was your wife's name?"

"Lydia," John said. "She was quite the chase before we tied the knot. She thought I was some playboy, and she was _not_ wrong. All of that seemed to stop when I met her. She was a looker. Red hair, blue eyes, a fair face… a little shorter than me, curvy but slender. Just my type. We were happy. She got mad at me for light flirtation here and there, but I _never_ cheated on her. I gave her _anything_ she wanted. Our daughter was given anything she wanted. She came to look more like me. Last I saw her, she was two. She's blonde but with her mother's eyes." He paused. "When the divorce was finalized, she got everything of mine."

"Have you ever consider maybe getting back with her? Or as of now, even?" Elijah asked.

"No," he shook his head. "I come from a wealthy family anyways. I'd be set even if I did eventually leave this school but… all of that which Lydia got in the settlement is eventually going to be Cecilia's." He clarified. "Cecilia is my daughter." He then turned his smirk to Elijah and chuckled: "I'm a free man, though. Have you ever been married?"

"No." Elijah's response was straightforward, maintaining eye contact.

"Aw, you have to at _least_ have a girlfriend," John smiled.

"No."

This shocked the former professional boxer, making him clasp his hands between his legs. "Wait, you've…never, uh…"

"No." Elijah knew exactly what he meant. He saw John chuckle a bit as if to ridicule him. "Don't laugh. It's _very_ unbecoming."

"I'm sorry, I just… _never_ met a guy who hasn't been laid by thirty," John laughed, biting his lip to suppress it.

Elijah looked down and sighed softly through his nose: "I haven't met the right woman."

"The right woman? Who is she for you?" John questioned, propping his feet up on his bed and laying back, looking over at him.

"I have seen her face in my dreams," the dark-haired Alpha said dreamily, his English accent dancing as he laid back on his bed the same way as John had. "She has golden hair that frames her face. Sometimes it is wavy, sometimes full-on curly. A sculpted face with high cheekbones and a diamond-shaped jaw, the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen, and she is slender. She is often in luxurious red evening gowns and wearing red jewelry. I see her often in red ruby drop earrings. She exudes power and authority. I'm not sure what tickles _your_ fancy, but I love a woman in charge."

John chuckled: "nah, I couldn't deal with that. A woman is a woman, and a man is a man. I don't understand this feminism bullshit."

"I may just be submissive," Elijah confessed. "I've kept to myself most of my life, and I always have been demure, doing the right thing, and minding my own business. Except for that time recently I brought that missing girl back, and when I finally stood up to that _arsehole_ boss of mine."

"What did you do when you were discovered?"

"Travel consulting," Elijah said.

"Yuck!"

"I know. I was there six years, and I was always passed up for a promotion in favor of the newcomers," Elijah said with annoyance. "Fucking joke."

"Did you go to school?"

"Yes. University of Nottingham. I went back _home_ for that," Elijah smiled. "BSc in Management and a part-time BA course in Music."

"Music? What do you play?"

"Piano, violin, and I sing, as well. I don't do it much anymore, but…"

"You should," John chuckled, getting up and turning his bedcovers over to get in. Elijah did the same, and they laid on their side in their respective beds, looking at each other before turning out the light.

"Goodnight, I'm beat," John yawned.

"You're telling me," Elijah retorted playfully.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _So we learn more about Elijah and John's human, alternate-timeline lives... quoting Mallory, "_ nothing ever truly dies. We are all made of energy, and energy can neither be created nor destroyed. It can only be transferred from one form to another _." We can definitely see Elijah and John in a more "human" light. Also, YES, Lydia and Cecilia are alive and exist - however, they are merely mentions and do not make a full comeback in this timeline. They are both normal humans and Cecilia is like a regular human kid, aging like normal._

 _By all means, Favorite, Follow and leave a Review! I hope you are all enjoying it!_


	13. Ch 13 - Fate is Knocking

**Chapter 13 – Fate is Knocking**

Melanie DeLongpre settled on joining the coven in New Orleans, as during her tour of Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Ladies, she felt a sense of extreme familiarity and belonging. Fate brought her there, and she was willing to accept the cards dealt for her. She had flown back home to Virginia that Sunday, as her round-trip ticket had that on there as a date and put in a two-weeks' notice at the museum she worked at. Many of her coworkers were sad to see her go, and when asked, she simply said it was a "new educational opportunity further down South." It wasn't a lie, but she couldn't just say it was a school for witches. She'd be ostracized. She didn't want that. Most of her clothing, shoes, and jewelry was packed in all of her luggage sets, which totaled to four sets, and her Porsche was sold off for a decent amount of money. She had sold most of the furniture in her penthouse, while one or two articles left over was given to any neighbors who lived downstairs. It took her a total of four weeks to finally get to New Orleans with all of her belongings, and her roommate was none other than Misty Day.

Her first two months at the academy were very eventful. She was able to practice all of her powers at different times; lectio animo, divination, telekinesis, resurgence, concilium and transmutation. She had even made the acquaintance of antiquated TV actress Bubbles McGee, movies of whom she had seen before. During her one-time drop-in to the academy, Melanie learned that Bubbles also possessed lectio animo – specifically, it was a type of clairvoyance where the user could read someone's soul and the thoughts associated with it, and extracting the truth came with the territory.

She grew particularly close with Mallory, Misty, Coco, and Madison. She was well-acquainted with Witches Council members Zoe Benson and Queenie, and Cordelia watched how Melanie excelled in several subjects. Green magic and potioncraft became a specialty for Melanie, and as she spent more time in the greenhouse, it fascinated her even more. As for spells, she was able to perform most with ease, and even picked up by other's example. There was one occasion during the first two weeks of her being there that Zoe was teaching an enchantment for turning roses a certain color with the backstory that Josephine Bonaparte, Empress of France, was a witch who cultivated one of Europe's most famous rose gardens in her time. She had turned her rose a light pink color, while Mallory turned hers a soft blue and made the petals detach and turn to butterflies. _I wonder if I can do the same_ , thought Melanie as she concentrated just a little bit more and ended up turning the rose's petals into pink butterflies. She and Mallory giggled as their petals flew around the room, mingling, and the other students watched as well with expressions of wonder. Another spell Melanie learned was the Guardian's Chalice, a boundary spell for protecting a space involving filling a cup with sharp junk to trap bad juju.

Little did the woman know her life would change greatly – one the day it did, she was with Misty in the greenhouse, learning a spell for protective berries that Cordelia once taught Misty a few years before. She also got introduced to Misty's special poultice made from Louisiana swamp mud, which was employed in the spell. It involved a semi-dead fruit-bearing plant in a pot, and herbs to put in the mud. One of them was bay leaves, and Melanie curiously looked at them.

"I didn't know bay leaves could be used for magic," she said. "My mom would use it for Thanksgiving to rub the turkey."

"It's for protection," Misty said, holding up some other strange herb. "Asafoetida here, it banishes evil. Careful, it's stinky shit."

Melanie leaned down to sniff the concoction in the blender and fanned near her nose, grimacing: "you're right."

"Don't use this unless you're in danger, it's lookin' good. Miss Cordelia told me to make some for all of us," Misty told her. "Well, _we_ are makin' it. Can you grab the incantation?"

Melanie nodded and went behind them on the workbench to get the index card with the chant written on it, copied from one of the many old books housed at the academy. She looked down at it and read with strong intention, one of the steps she knew for successfully casting a spell or enchantment:

" _Bazabi lacha Bachabe,_

 _Lamac cahi achabahi, karellyos!_

 _Lamac lamac bachalys,_

 _Cabahagy sabalyos barylos_ …"

As she spoke every word, the fruit-bearing plant came back to full life and health, and when she saw the ripe, mysterious red berries on the branches, Melanie clapped her hands excitedly and looked at Misty.

"That is so cool! I did it!"

She gave Misty a high five, their hands soiled with mud, and the swamp witch smiled back: "we make a great team."

"I'm so glad we do," the new student said. "In my time here, I've never felt so at home. Thank you for making that difference for me."

"Took me to a while to find my tribe," Misty agreed. "Once I found 'em, I knew I wasn't alone anymore. You ain't your best self 'til you find it. Do you think you found it with us?"

"Yes," Melanie said with enthusiasm. She looked at the berries on the plant she just revived: "so… are these edible?"

Misty nodded with a smile, taking two of them off its branches and popping them in her mouth. Melanie followed suit to the swamp witch's example and plucked one off, chewing on it. It tasted like a strange combination of cherry, grape, and strawberry. She nodded and moaned slightly at the taste as she processed it.

"Hm… this is different," she said, swallowing the berry. "So, I'll have protection when I eat these?"

"That's right," Misty replied.

 _Knock-knock_ …

The sound of light knocking against the glass door of the greenhouse entry was made by Zoe, who soft, classically-beautiful face was directed toward Melanie and Misty. Her long, straight brown hair hung around her face, the ends meeting with a white long-sleeved shirt with black lace on the shoulders and across the upper back. She was wearing black skinny jeans and a pair of calf-high boots with buckles across the ankles. She smiled slightly and moved forward.

"Hello Misty," she greeted, "and Melanie."

"Hi, Zoe," Melanie replied in a friendly manner. "Are you alright?"

"Cordelia sent me here to let you know there are some pretty important guests in the ancestry room from the Hawthorn School," Zoe informed. "Clean up and come with me."

"The Hawthorn School?" Melanie asked curiously.

"A school for warlocks out in California," the member of the Witches Council said. "Their council as well as… something I _never_ thought I'd see."

"Who?" Misty asked, wiping her hands off of the mud and giving Melanie the same towel to use.

"The Alpha."

Melanie looked at them both: "wait, I thought there was a Supreme. Cordelia is."

"The Alpha is supposed to be just below the Supreme in rank, but equivalent in power," Zoe explained. "He's a proper English gentleman. Very charming. They just flew in yesterday."

"Let's go meet 'im," Misty said with excitement.

* * *

Elijah was dressed rather grandly compared to the High Chancellor, who was now his subordinate in the coven at Hawthorn, as he was now the long-awaited Alpha Warlock. Ariel, Baldwin, and John Henry also were present and dressed well for the occasion of introducing their proudest achievement. Elijah, like Ariel, wore a cape, but it was all black and not red-lined. Across his chest was a double brooch joined by two chains, one straight and one drooped, made of the finest sterling silver. Underneath the cape was a black doublet-styled shirt and pants with a pair of knee-high, lace up leather boots. His dark hair, penetrating light blue eyes, and fair skin in addition to the outfit made him look sort of like someone who was headed to a Goth night at the local alternative club, but he looked every bit the part he had assumed. John Vanderbilt was also present for moral support of his new friend, and because of his new level three status, he was given a bright orange topaz brooch in the style of an equal-armed cross. It was pinned to the base of his tie's knot to signify his new position. While this occasion was only for Elijah, it was also a point for John to be introduced as a new member of their ranks. He took notice of Madison Montgomery in the room, among Coco, Mallory, Cordelia, and Queenie, and made a bold move on her.

"Hey, you're pretty," he said in a forward fashion, standing next to her. "Any chance I can get your number, sweetheart?"

Madison just let out a guffaw and shook her head: "I don't think so."

"You're that movie star, right?" he asked, pretending to be nervous.

"Yeah," she answered.

"I'm famous, too. I was a professional boxer," he bragged playfully.

"Until you got jailed for manslaughter," Madison rolled her eyes.

"That doesn't define my character. Besides, it was an accident. Aggravating circumstances got me time, not the actual incident," he said charismatically, looking down into her dark hazel-green eyes.

Elijah looked at John and spoke with intention, using concilium to make him look his way and obey commands: "John, the lady said to leave her be, so leave her be."

"I know you're nervous," Cordelia said, standing and looking down at the newly-appointed warlock under her in title but equivalent in power.

"I am, Miss Goode. I won't lie," Elijah replied. "My life's changed greatly in the past two months that I simply can't-"

"Hey, you're late," Coco suddenly said, approaching Melanie and Misty as they entered the ancestry room.

That was when Elijah looked over at the two blonde women, his penetrating gaze fixed on Melanie DeLongpre. She matched the description to a tee of the woman he had dreamt of most of his life. Except she was not in a red evening gown with ruby jewelry, and she lacked the regal bearing she had in his slumber. She was wearing a white collared blouse and a tweed overdress that looked more like a sleeveless tunic, and black loafers with nude hose. For jewelry, it was a lot tamer than his dream, as she wore pearl drop earrings and a string of pearls peeking out from being tucked under her collar. Her blonde waves framed her face neatly, and her eyes were exactly like he had dreamed them to be.

At the very same time, Melanie's bright blue eyes sparkled at the familiar man in all black sitting down in the ancestry room. Out of everyone she had met in those fateful two months, this man made her not just feel familiarity, but at home. His face was chiseled with defined cheekbones, his eyes pierced through her soul, and his dark hair was neatly combed. She blushed as he stood up, and she noticed he was reasonably tall at about five-foot-eleven. Just when she tried to put her hands behind her back with shyness, he leaned down and held her right one, looking down at her with an emotion she couldn't describe.

"H-Hello," she said.

"What is your name, love?" he asked, his voice soft. She nearly swooned at his light English accent.

"Melanie," she introduced. "Melanie DeLongpre."

 _Her name starts with an M. I can't believe it, it's her!_ She could read him like a book, even though he was significantly more powerful than she was.

"What?" She answered as though she were being spoken to by him. His eyes widened, and he let out a chuckle, revealing a perfect set of white teeth.

"I…uh… I just…"

"She has lectio animo," Cordelia explained. "The ability to read one's very soul."

 _My soul is yours for the taking_ , she sensed Elijah think to himself.

"Why would I want to do _that_?" the new student asked with a chuckle and a blush.

"Oh uh… never mind!" he said expressively, looking down at her right hand. "M-May I?"

Before she could answer, he met his eyes with hers and his lips pressed against the top of her hand. Melanie's heart fluttered a little, and before she knew it, he took her arm into his an escorted her over toward the warlock's council members as if she were his date to cotillion or prom. Ariel and Baldwin smiled at him with Melanie on his arm, and John Henry gave an amused expression, and John just let out a chuckle at the uncanny sight.

"Miss DeLongpre, may I introduce you to Ariel Augustus, Grand Chancellor of the Warlock Council," he began.

"Hello, Melanie."

"And may I introduce Baldwin Pennypacker, John Henry Moore, Behold Chablis, and my good friend John Vanderbilt from the school," Elijah said.

"You know, I've never seen you smile _like this_ the entire time I've known you," John remarked, turning his gaze to Melanie and shaking her free hand. "Charmed."

"Pleasure is mine," she said politely. She turned tables and looked to her new friends and Supreme, looking to introduce them. "You've met… uh, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, and-"

"We're cousins," John jumped in.

" _Distant_ ," Coco rolled her eyes at the newly-appointed level three.

"As I was saying," Melanie smirked, looking back at the other witches in the room. "Coco, Mallory, Queenie, Zoe, Madison… Cordelia, our Supreme. I'm sure you've met all of them." She turned to see Misty waving with a grand smile on her face. "And Misty Day. She is my friend, we were just in the greenhouse."

He looked to Misty and smiled: "you look very familiar to me, as do _all_ of you ladies. Are you sure we haven't met _before_ today?"

"You look familiar, too, but I can't recall where we met," Misty chuckled.

"Same," Mallory said, and everyone else present from the academy agreed.

"Maybe in another life?" Melanie asked, catching Elijah's mysterious gaze down on her.

"Of course, love," he said. "Perhaps, an _other_ life or timeline of existence. One may never know."

* * *

That evening, when the other students of Miss Robicheaux's met the new Alpha, they had first dinner at 5:30pm, and then second dinner, where all of the veteran witches gathered to eat, took place at 7:30pm. Cordelia and Elijah were appropriately seated on either end of the table, on the right side from Elijah's point of view sat John, Ariel, Melanie, Mallory, and Zoe. On the left side from his perspective sat Madison, Behold, John Henry, Queenie, Misty and Coco. For this occasion, the table was made longer by the addition of another table, in which John helped the butler, Kyle, arrange rapidly because he was strong and heavy-handed. The Supreme held a toast, raising her white wine up and tapping her glass.

"I would like to propose a toast to our new Alpha, Mr. Elijah Cross. I also propose everlasting peace between our covens from this day forth. Mr. Cross, may you bring leadership, strength, and humility to those you come across and teach in the arts of magic."

Elijah nodded his head politely, raising his glass slightly higher: "accepted. Thank you, Miss Goode."

Melanie thought of his name, felt a familiarity with it as it resonated in her mind. _Elijah Cross_. _Elijah Cross_. _Elijah Cross_. About ten minutes into dinner and conversation, she had the feeling like she was being watched, and she was correct. She turned her gaze slightly to the far end of the table where she saw Elijah's piercing, light blue eyes staring at her. She felt a little uncomfortable, and averted her gaze downward, until using her lectio animo to read his soul.

 _It's her. She's so much more exquisite in real life. I knew she was real. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever suspect my fate leading me to her. She is every bit the Queen she presented herself as… well, she is_ not _a Queen in actuality, but she may as well be._ My Queen _, perhaps? I cannot bear to let anyone else have her. She is my destiny. I would die a deadly pain in endless misery if she were to reject me. I would wait… patiently, dutifully… even for a kiss. Oh, I must stop staring at her. I am making my dear lady uncomfortable._ Melanie smirked as she watched him look down at his food, take a bite, swallow and wash it down with some wine. Then, his gaze went back to her. _Oh, I can't help myself. Elijah, you pillock, this is not like your character_.

"So, Mr. Cross," Madison asked, trying too hard to be polite. "You're English?"

"Yes," he answered, looking at her.

"Where from? I went to London a few times for filming," she inquired.

" _East_ London, actually. I studied in Nottingham, though," he said.

"What did you study?" Mallory asked curiously, wiping her mouth with the napkin on her lap.

"Management with a part time course in Music," Elijah said.

"My Auntie Myrtle loved music," Cordelia mentioned. "The theremin, the piano…" she paused. "What _do_ you play?"

"The piano and the violin," he said. "I also did voice for part of my course, so I sing, as well."

"You _have_ to sing for us," Coco said with excitement. "That would be awesome. In fact, what do you sing?"

"Oh… classics."

"Like… what?"

"John Rowland, John Fletcher…" he listed briefly.

"They don't ring a bell," Madison said, squirming down at her food.

"You seem very _cultured_ , Mr. Cross," Cordelia praised.

Elijah nodded slightly to be polite: "I do fancy Stevie Nicks, Selena Quintanilla, Seal…"

"I _love_ Stevie Nicks! She's my hero!" Misty exclaimed.

"Uh… _yes_ ," he said, taken aback by her enthusiasm. "I do enjoy her music."

"She is the only witch before this coven I've ever known. She's a White Witch…" Misty mused. "Don't her lyrics just… penetrated your soul and tell the truth about everythin' you've ever felt your whole life?"

Elijah nodded and smiled, and Melanie could read his thoughts clearly: _She is very amusing. I very much like her_ … Then his gaze turned to the blonde he became infatuated with, _but not nearly as much as I feel for gracious Miss DeLongpre_.

* * *

That evening, Melanie retired to her room with Misty sitting on her bed on the other side of the wide room they shared. The two roommates shared a bathroom, and Misty had just come out to remove her makeup. It was when Melanie got to her bed that she saw a note and what looked to be a blue rose laid ceremoniously on top of it. She curiously picked it up, and it caught Misty's curiosity.

"What's that?"

Melanie read aloud the note in all its brevity, in neat, almost feminine cursive writing:

 **" _Dear Miss DeLongpre,_**

 ** _Please forgive me for my unruly amount of staring at dinner. I also apologize for my thoughts if you were using your magic on me. Some of that which I thought, you did not need to hear, and I am sorry for that._**

 ** _Anyhow, please accompany me this evening on a walk through the city? To my knowledge, downtown isn't very far from here, and it is quite lively. If so, please meet me at the bottom of the grand staircase at 9PM sharp. I will be there, waiting patiently._**

 ** _Your humble servant,_**

 ** _Elijah_ "**

Melanie's jaw dropped, laughing at the letter: "your humble servant?!" She let out a laugh and Misty approached her.

"He likes you. I saw him lookin' at you with this… I don't know… I just had this feelin'," the bohemian witch explained. "You looked back at him, and it was…electric."

"I did feel this weird feeling when I saw him. Like… I met him before. You know anything about past lives?" Melanie asked.

Misty shook her head: "hm… not really."

"Should I go?" the new student asked. "This is the most British letter I've ever read. It's like something out of those 18th century novels. Like… _Dangerous Liaisons_."

"You should go," Misty suggested. "Go see the _city_."

With that being said, Melanie used transmutation to get to the full-length mirror and freshen up her look, neatening her golden hair and smearing away any out-of-place makeup. From there, she grabbed her small purse and put within her cellphone and wallet before putting on her loafers and going down the hallway to the grand staircase. She took out her phone to check the time, and saw it was 9:01PM, and from there we walked down the stairs slowly to see the back of Elijah's black cape as he faced the front door. She boldly used transmutation to go from the top landing of the stairs to go to the landing, and he turned to look at her and was startled.

"Oh! You startled me," he chuckled. "I'm glad you saw my letter."

"Where did you get the blue rose? It's beautiful," Melanie inquired, recalling how Mallory changed her rose to blue at the lesson that day two months before.

"The greenhouse, but I managed to find a spell laying around to enchant it to stay a certain color. I felt blue was most appropriate. I'm glad you approve," he said.

"It's beautiful. Thank you," Melanie smiled, making eye contact with him as he leaned to kiss her hand like he had earlier. She felt her heart fluttering in her chest and he took her arm in his, leading her out of the white manor and out into the night.

* * *

The French Quarter of New Orleans was lively and bright with lights as Elijah escorted Melanie down the streets. It took them about 45 minutes to get there by foot, and they were greeted with a crown of people, bright lights, and the uncanny sound of New Orleans jazz. The smell of liquor filled the air, and people were all around engaging in amusements – it was a Friday night after all. Elijah looked down at Melanie, whose bright blue eyes tried to take in everything around her from the 19th century buildings to the smell of Cajun spices coming from restaurants. Elijah did not even care to notice the numerous people staring at him, dressed like he was heading to a Goth night with the long black cape and chained double brooches over a black suit and black boots.

They finally made it past the nightlife into a park-like area, where he bid Melanie to sit at one of the benches. He sat beside her, feeling his heart beating like a drum in his chest, in awe of how he perceived Melanie's beauty. He also was in awe that they happened to meet like this, and were of the same kind. She was a witch, he was a warlock. He started to speak with her about her time at the academy, which turned into a deeper conversation.

"What made you go to New Orleans? Where did you live originally?" he asked.

"Virginia. Born and bred. I was referred by a family friend," Melanie said.

"Ah."

"She just happened to be a psychic medium," the new student witch added. "She knows Cordelia. She totally blew my skepticisms out of the water when I met her."

"I'm sure she did," Elijah smiled.

"What made you go to Hawthorn?"

"Behold Chablis, the black man with the Warlock Council, came knocking. He sensed some magic I used, and footage from surveillance in my office was sent to the school."

"What did you do?"

"I was through with my boss and barely touched him… he went flying back to the wall in my office," Elijah explained. "He was on my case because I went way over my lunch break."

"You brought a dead girl to life," Melanie sensed, looking him in the eye. "She was missing for two days, and you were led to her."

He was impressed and nodded: "yes, love. That is what happened. He fired me for it. Forgive my tongue but… he was a _twat_."

Melanie laughed at how he said it; his accent, his tone, and his over-the-top respectfulness with a lady like herself present. She shook her head and looked at him.

"You felt pulled by fate," she said.

"Indeed." He paused. "What is something you've been passionate about at the academy here?"

"Well… I do enjoy spellcraft and green magic. I've been really drawn to protection spells lately," she revealed.

Elijah put his arm around her, part of his cape also going over her shoulder; it was a breezy summer night in New Orleans, and Melanie felt very safe with him, and even more so when he said: "you won't need protection spells when I am around, love."

She continued: "I also am able to practice the powers I've had since age nine, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I _belong_. I don't feel repressed under the guise of… good grades, and a successful career as a museum curator, and… tight evening gowns at cotillions, and equestrian competitions… and…"

She stopped, feeling his curiosity in his smile: "so you _are_ a lady!"

"Raised to be," she said.

She could feel his hand caressing her hair softly, and she turned to look at him doing so, and his eyes smiled.

"Such beautiful hair," he muttered, his English accent a lull. _It's exactly how I imagined it to be_ , Melanie sensed from him.

"Mr. Cross…I, uh…"

"Elijah, love," he insisted. "Please."

" _Elijah_." She corrected herself with an impatient sigh. "What do you mean it when you say… or _think_ … I'm exactly how you imagined me?"

He nodded and looked at her: "this is going to sound bonkers, love, but please… listen."

"I'm listening," Melanie said, smiling slightly.

"Most of my life, since I was a boy, I've had dreams of a woman. She… looked _exactly_ like you, and even as an adult, up until recently, I have dreamt of her. She resembles you," he caressed the side of her face, his thumb going over one of her high cheekbones, "down to the _finest_ detail. She would often wear red evening gowns… capes sometimes… ruby jewelry… usually a pair of droopy earrings. Her hair," his hand went toward her golden locks, "streamed blonde and gold, like yours, except sometimes it was up in a chignon. She was of graceful bearing, but _powerful_ … like a _Queen_ … and I was her humble servant, and grateful for assuming that role."

She looked off into space for a moment, looking at an aged oak tree before responding: "I had this odd familiarity looking at you earlier today, and now I know why."

"What is it, love?" Elijah asked her, holding her hand affectionately.

"Well… I have had dreams here and there since childhood of a man… and now, I recognize you as resembling him," she answered, turning to look into his eyes. "He would be sort of how you're dressed now, but… lots of red elements to his ensembles. Often, he'd be at my feet, on his knees…this is going to sound gross but…he'd kiss them."

 _Something I would gladly do for you_ , Melanie heard him think. Elijah saw she rolled her eyes and he chuckled.

"Why is that gross?" he asked.

"Because… it's feet and…" Melanie trailed off with a light grimace. "I won't sugar-coat it. I think what he does is adorable, but… I don't think I could like that in real life."

"Maybe… if you were to allow me," he suggested, looking down into her eyes. "It would be a pleasure."

Melanie stood up from the bench and looked down at him, and his eyes went up to her, his pupils shrinking in fear. _I hope I didn't offend her_ , he thought, the witch sensing it clear as day.

"Y-You didn't," she answered. "We should get back."

* * *

He looked disappointed, but tried not to show it to keep Melanie happy in his presence. He stood up and took her arm in his, and most of the walk back to Miss Robicheaux's was silent. Once they got to the great gate that kept the school secure, Elijah gestured toward the fence and opened it with merely his mind, letting Melanie enter first as he closed it behind them. He noticed Melanie standing, waiting for him to escort her up the stairs and into the white manor, but instead of escorting her, he broke the silence that came between them.

"I enjoyed our walk very much," he expressed with a warm grin.

"As did I. Thank you," she said short-handedly.

He could sense her sulkiness and took it as a sign to go closer to her, tilting her chin up so he could meet her gaze in the darkness dimmed by street lights. Melanie's blue eyes looked up at his, noticing his eyes alternating slowly between them and her lips as if to lean down into a kiss. Elijah had never kissed a woman before, and this was his first – he kept it chaste and simple, light pressure on her lips before drawing back slowly to see if she would be receptive to him. Melanie thought it was rather sweet, though it was not her first kiss in her life. Elijah sensed that she wanted another, so he leaned in with heightened passion and gently put his tongue against her lips. He felt a fire burning inside him like he'd never felt before, and Melanie was the one to ignite it. He pulled away and looked down at her.

"Miss DeLongpre," he said quietly.

"Yes, Elijah?" Her eyes were slightly wider with anticipation of what he was going to say.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Melanie thought for a moment before answering: "no. Not really."

Elijah was silent, but his soul said everything, and Melanie could hear every word: _I have not been in love until I met you. Love at first sight is indeed real, because I have experienced it. My dream has come to fruition, and my Queen is with me, now. I feel as though I have travelled through oceans of time to be united with her_.

"It is late," he said to her. "Do you wish to sleep, Miss DeLongpre?"

"I am tired, actually," she said, looking up at him with her eyelids feeling heavier.

"Allow me to take you to your room," he offered kindly.

"No…" she said. "It's alright. You go to sleep."

"I cannot sleep unless I know that _you_ are in your bed," he answered with a smile.

 _How can I say no_ , she thought.

She let him escort her up the stairs and to her room, using telekinesis to open the door to where Misty Day was soundly asleep across the room. He let Melanie sit on her bed, and he smiled as he got on his knees in front of her. He took off her loafers and set them aside neatly before sitting next to her on the bed to remove her jewelry. However, he was deterred by a subtle hand from Melanie.

"It's alright," she giggled quietly. "I can do it. These pearls are expensive."

He watched her take off her string of pearls and the drop earrings that matched it. Elijah held out his hand, and Melanie, wanting to test him, gave him the earrings and string of pearls. He walked over to a drawer near her dresser, instinctively finding the correct velvet box where the jewelry was taken from to begin with. He placed them neatly in the holding tabs, closed it, and placed it back in the drawer. He looked back and smiled at her reverently, and she looked down and blushed. _His divination is proficient_ , she thought.

"Goodnight. That'll be all," she said.

He nodded his head respectfully before leaving the room: "goodnight, Miss DeLongpre."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _Elijah and Melanie have reunited! Our Alpha is over the moon! Another piece of British slang used by our Alpha is defined below for those not familiar:_

 **Pillock** \- idiot/fool

 _The story is almost over, so Favorite and Follow to keep track of the updates to come!_


	14. Ch 14 - Oceans of Time

**Chapter 14 – Oceans of Time**

Melanie seemed to oversleep that next morning. It was a Saturday, and she looked over at the clock to see it was 10:30am. She got up from her bed, uncovered and still in the same clothing from the night before, taking them off and running a shower. As she washed, she thought of everything she and Elijah shared the night before, even how his lips touched hers in a sweet, chaste manner before increasing with passion the second time. She got out, and put on a new outfit consisting of an A-line style black dress with a sweetheart neckline that hung off the shoulders with just straps holding it up. On the ends of the long sleeves were pleated lace inserts over wide slits. She accessorized with a black lace choker with a faceted crystal dangling down, and on her ears, she put simple diamond earrings. She dried the ends of her golden waves and put on hose that went just above the knee before sliding on her designer loafers.

As she walked out of her and Misty's shared room, she heard a crisp, theatrical male voice singing from downstairs. She followed it, using transmutation to get herself to the landing of the grand staircase fast enough. As she walked down the stairs, she heard it coming from the ancestry room, an antiquated verse from the reign of Queen Elizabeth I:

" _All the night my sleeps are full of dreams,_

 _My eyes are full of streams._

 _My heart takes no delight_

 _To see the fruits and joys that some do find_

 _And mark the storms are me assign'd_ …"

 _He sings beautifully_ , Melanie thought as she leaned against the archway of the ancestry room, seeing Elijah in all black, but in a dark gray buttoned vest over a black dress shirt and pants. His shoes were leather, and across the vest he wore his double-chained brooches like he did the night before. Present were Coco, Mallory, Zoe, Misty and Cordelia, along with John Henry, Ariel, Baldwin and Behold. The projection of his voice was impeccable, perfect delivery as he began to sing the next verse, looking over at Melanie as though he were serenading her:

" _Out alas, my faith is ever true,_

 _Yet will she never rue_

 _Nor yield me any grace,_

 _Her eyes of fire, her heart of flint is made,_

 _Whom tears nor truth may once invade…"_

He used transmutation suddenly to go closer to Melanie, taking her by the hands and spinning her, holding her hands out as though he were behind her, repeating the last two lines of the verse:

 _Her eyes of fire, her heart of flint is made,_

 _Whom tears nor truth may once invade…"_

Then, Elijah took her arm in his and smiled, singing the last verse of the song softly but crisply. Coco and Mallory smiled at the scene, while Zoe and Cordelia could sense their chemistry. Misty on the other hand, was enchanted by the romantic gesture Elijah was offering to her new friend:

" _Gentle Love, draw forth thy wounding dart,_

 _Thou canst not pierce her heart,_

 _For I, that do approve_

 _By sighs and tears more hot than are thy shafts_

 _Did tempt while she for triumph laughs…"_

The witches and warlocks present all clapped loudly for Elijah's little performance. Ariel rose from his seat and approached his Alpha with enough praises for an entire cast of thespians.

"Bravo! Bravo! Our Alpha can sing, too," he grinned.

"I had a whole semester dedicated to Elizabethan music in Nottingham," Elijah revealed, Melanie still on his arm. "I sang that for my final performance, as I did a voice course that semester."

"It sure paid off! That was great," Coco smiled. "Thank you."

Elijah nodded as if to say, 'my pleasure', and before they all knew it, Madison and John entered the room. She was dressed in a matching skirt and crop top with a disco ball pattern, black stockings that went over the knee, and spiked ankle booties. John was in a white dress shirt, but Melanie could tell he had just gotten dressed because he was still adjusting the cuffs on his shirt. Curiously, she read their souls and nearly laughed at what she heard.

 _I saw him shirtless, he's pretty hot even though he's a fucking show-off. My interest in the whole package is still there though_ , Madison thought as she took a cigarette from the cylindrical holder on the side table of the sofa. Melanie saw her wipe the corner of her mouth before putting the cigarette in it, lighting it with her pyrokinesis. She turned to John, and knew exactly what happened.

 _That was the best suck I've ever had in my life_ , he thought, _I want to bend her over and claim my territory_.

Melanie looked up at Elijah: "let's… go to the greenhouse, shall we?"

"Wherever you go, I will follow," he said.

As they left the room, John looked at Madison and chuckled as she blew her smoke from the drag she took into the air. He approached her, and looked back at the warlocks and Cordelia along with Coco, Mallory, Misty, Zoe and Queenie, who went off to prepare breakfast with Kyle, the butler. He looked back at Madison.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"You are _something else_ ," he said, biting his lip.

"Hey, you're a snack, don't get me wrong, but you're a fucking show-off," Madison said, taking a drag. "Doesn't change my opinion on you."

"Baby, you don't know what 'show-off' means," John said with a chuckle.

"So, what? I sucked your dick. Want a fucking trophy?"

"What I want is to bend you over and have an early breakfast," he purred, pulling her close to him.

"Uh, let go of me," she said, pushing him back off her.

She walked out of the room, putting out her cigarette on an ash tray sitting on the coffee table before doing so. John, feeling pent up from that morning's encounter with the movie star-turned-ward of Robicheaux's, turned his hand over to the fireplace and made a fire blaze from it, causing a sufficient blowback from behind the cinder guard that was lined up against it.

* * *

That evening, by his invitation, Melanie accompanied Elijah to the French Quarter of New Orleans once again to dinner at Galatoire's, one of the most famous and oldest restaurants in all of New Orleans known for its French cuisine. It also was quite fancy, enough so that Melanie wondered if Elijah was well-enough off to take her out like this. To her surprise, it was not that expensive, the prices listed next to the menu items.

"Please, Miss DeLongpre, don't worry about quantities. Get anything you desire," he said, looking at her from across the candle-lit table.

"Elijah… I call you by your first name," she began. "Please, call me Melanie."

He sighed and smiled: "as you wish, Melanie."

The two simply had glasses of sauvignon-blanc when she ordered a pork chop with a bacon and onion garnish and a side of Portobello mushrooms, while he ordered something rather unusual; a veal liver with hollandaise and a side of lyonnaise potatoes. They talked about different things as they dined together; Elijah spoke about his family back in England, parents included as they moved back around the time he went to college in Nottingham. Melanie talked about various experiences she had, especially in preparing to be a debutante and experiences she had at Harvard. He was impressed that she was able to study at such an institution, and he was intrigued by her interest in history, and how it led to her being a museum curator before coming to the school in New Orleans.

"You are a _gifted_ witch," Elijah praised. "I just am coming into my own, but it is refreshing to see such potential."

"Thank you, but I'm not exactly the next Supreme," Melanie said, halfway done with her plate and sipping her wine.

Elijah nodded, listening and probing her for an answer: "why is that?"

"Because I don't have all Seven Wonders. Mallory does. She is my friend. She is going to replace Cordelia one day," Melanie explained, staring off into space for a moment, "not that I am wishing for _that_ any time soon. I do like Cordelia. She is very knowledgeable and kind."

"She is, indeed," he said. "I love a woman in power. Surely, women are the fairer sex, but they are the _superior_ sex. Truth be told," he took a sip of his wine, "if I had it my way, I would _not_ want to be Alpha."

"Why? You've accepted it with honor," Melanie asked, somewhat in shock.

"Because there should _only_ be a Supreme. The only reason there is an Alpha with the warlocks is to one day try and usurp the reigning Supreme, which I think is preposterous," he revealed. "Men have done enough to women over the centuries. It's time for it to end."

Melanie smiled grandly at him and raised her wine glass: "amen to that."

They finished eating, and made a point to share raspberry sorbet for dessert. The next thing that came out shocked Melanie the most – absinthe. She could not believe it. There was a bottle of Greune Fee along with strainers and sugar cubes to drink it the traditional French way. Elijah smiled at her, pouring her glass first but waiting until they toasted before sipping.

"I thought this stuff was…" Melanie looked around before whispering, " _illegal_?"

"Not here, come to find out," he smirked. "I used to enjoy this in England. Haven't had it since. How is it?"

"Strong," she said, slightly fanning her face, feeling the heavy anise taste trickling down her throat.

"Now you've been introduced to quite the luxury," he said. "It is the aphrodisiac of the self, the nectar of gods. The green fairy who resides in it wants your soul, but… with me around, you are safe."

"It's starting to work if you're saying _that_ stuff," Melanie blushed. "Tell me… about those dreams… what else would you see? What was it like?"

"It was a place and time after a damage far too great to repair," Elijah explained, feeling the effects of the absinthe as he began to speak. Images formulated in his mind, but he described what it was in a roundabout way. "It existed as merely a bubble, the outside world too toxic to safely breathe and sustain oneself in."

Then, in his euphoric state, he was shocked at what Melanie said: "like… an apocalypse?"

"Yes, something like that," Elijah answered, pouring himself more absinthe and taking a sip.

"Millions upon millions had died…" Melanie continued, her brain going fuzzy as she continued to imbibe the absinthe. "A beast with ten horns and seven heads rose from the sea, and all who survived… worshipped him. He was king… _and_ their god. The sun became as black…and the moon became as blood… the stars fell from heaven, and the days of wrath had arrived to reign…"

Elijah looked at her and shook his head, calmly speaking with his lulling English accent: "go on, love. I wish to hear more." He poured her some more absinthe, of which she took a sip and continued.

"I have…nothing else…" she answered.

"I had seen the Queen make do with…what was available… I had seen orchards and farmable fields… there was a Princess… who then became a Queen. A mighty _Queen_ , the one I had seen in my dreams…" He turned his eyes, pupils dilated, to her: "she is before me as I speak."

"What happened to her?" Melanie questioned, taking more absinthe in.

"She is here," he said.

"No… something happened to her…" the woman answered. "Something _horrible_."

"The Dark Lord… killed her… and her lover and subject… revived her… seized his head…and he himself became King by her side… her… _humble servant_ ," he said.

"Two children… a princess and prince…" Melanie said, "came from the union."

"Yes… and… the princess was pure… a treasure," Elijah smiled, taking more absinthe. "I have seen them… the prince was an _ironic_ masculine beauty…"

"Such strange wording…" Melanie pointed out, sipping her absinthe and having Elijah pour her a third glass. "How can… one be an _ironic masculine beauty_?"

"Under his façade… was _pure evil_ … an untamed beast… like he was descended from," the Alpha warlock said in a euphoric, near-drunken state of consciousness. "His lust and hunger…for _power_ destroyed the kingdom…"

"He… wanted a master race of his kind… to take the Earth over," Melanie said, the sentence coming to mind flawlessly. "To kill off, enslave… and… feed on humanity…"

"Like a bloody cannibal," Elijah added. "The King… called upon helpers… messengers from the beyond…"

"To help stop him…" Melanie completed his thought.

"But they failed…" Elijah said. "The poor King's heart broke… when his Queen and princess died."

"How?"

"Incineration… their souls… ceased to exist…" the Alpha warlock said. "The prince killed them."

"What about the King?"

"Drowned… in a pool of black water…"

"How did the kingdom have a downfall?" Melanie asked, finishing her last sip of absinthe. She held her hand up when he tried to pour more, so he knew it meant that was enough for her.

"The prince fell from a window…high from a building… his physical form died… but his true form peeled from his corpse… and flew around… wreaking havoc at every turn…"

"I see fire…" Melanie said in a daze. "I see fire…"

"More and more died… if not from fire… he consumed them… blood was… all over," Elijah described.

"Armageddon," Melanie said.

"All over again," Elijah said.

Suddenly, one of the staff members at Galatoire's had come to the table, and at that moment, they noticed that everyone else was gone. The entire restaurant was empty except for Elijah and Melanie, who sat there, coming down from their daze. A Southern accent from a woman could be heard.

"Excuse me, we are closin' now. It's 10pm," she said.

Melanie's eyes widened: "I'm sorry, I-"

"We're ready," Elijah smirked, taking his card from his wallet and handing it to her.

"Do you need us to call you a cab or somethin'? You don't seem-"

Melanie stood up and held her palm toward the server: "no, I'm able to walk. It's fine."

"Excuse us," he said to the waitress.

"Maybe… we do need an Uber," the woman offered. "I'm… dizzy."

"Whatever you wish. I can take care of it," he said.

"No, you got dinner. I got this," she said, taking her phone out and getting on the Uber app to order a ride.

* * *

During the entire Uber ride home, Elijah held Melanie in his arms tightly, feeling her soft blonde waves resting against where his chest met his shoulder. She had never felt so safe, and she closed her eyes to smell his clean, musky scent. It did not take long to reach the manor, and once Elijah got out, he extended his hand to Melanie and pulled her out. He sensed that her lightheadedness had gone away, and they went up into the stairs and straight into the ancestry room. He had her sit on the sofa, and he used pyrokinesis to ignite a fire in the hearth, illuminating the dark room. It awakened her senses, and she felt herself coming back into a normal state of consciousness from her euphoria as a result of the absinthe.

"Is that better?"

"Yes," Melanie replied calmly, resting her head against his shoulder on the couch. He kissed her forehead, and her blue eyes looked up at him.

"Elijah?"

"Yes, love?" he asked, taking her hand and putting it to his shoulder, holding it there.

"Did all of _that_ really happen?" she asked. "What we talked about?"

He sighed, and shook his head, staring ahead into the fire: "I don't know."

"It seemed so real," Melanie remarked calmly. "Maybe it was the absinthe…"

"I do know _one_ thing, Melanie…" he said, looking down at her and making her look up into his piercing light blue eyes. "I feel like I have swum through oceans of time to find you."

She felt her heart fluttering at his romanticism. "R-Really?"

"Yes… also something else," he continued.

"What?" she asked, a serious look on her face, still gazing into his eyes.

She could not believe what she was hearing next from Elijah as he sat up with her, and held her hands in both of his after reaching into his pocket to pull something out. Melanie could feel it was metal, and the sensation distracted her until he spoke.

"Melanie DeLongpre, I have waited for you my entire life. The moment you walked into this room two mornings ago, I _knew_ I dreamed you into life. You are the Queen from my slumbers, and I wish for you to be _mine_ … forever."

She felt tears streaming slowly down her face as she looked away into the fire. He continued.

"My dear love, don't cry," he said, bringing her visage over to face him, his finger on her chin. "My love for you is unwavering and unstoppable. Nothing can soothe my passions more. Say that… you'll marry me?"

Her blue eyes widened, looking down at the ring that was wedged between their palms. It looked to be very old, perhaps by a century or close to it, and saw it was a plain gold band with three diamonds set into it. She looked at Elijah, and then down at the ring.

"It's old," she noticed.

"Indeed," he said proudly. "This was the same ring my granddad married my nana with, and it was _his_ mother's before that. I've carried it around with me since my nana gave it to me. She was on her deathbed, and in her will, she instructed this ring be given to me. I was 23 then. Seven straight years, I have carried it with me, hoping that by chance, I would meet the woman who was my destiny. Alas, it is you. Run away with me, love."

Melanie stood up and walked toward the fire, looking down at their dance in the stage of the hearth. She had just found her place in the world being a student at Miss Robicheaux's Academy, and made good friends with some of the veteran members of the coven. How could she just leave it all behind and start life anew with Elijah, a man she had grown fond of, and in turn fell madly in love with her? She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked back.

"What is the matter?"

"Elijah… I can't just _leave_. I can't disappoint my new friends, and certainly not Cordelia," Melanie said, looking up at him and noticing the expression in his eyes. "They'd be devastated."

"My dear," he began in a whisper. "I could wait for you until my dying breath, but I don't want to die before I unite with you."

"And what about _your_ coven, the warlocks?" she asked, graver than her previous statement. "You're _Alpha_. You have an obligation. You accepted that."

"I have, but I frankly don't care. I now know that my fate was leading me to _you_ ," he said, impassioned in a low tone. "I love you, with all my heart, and all my soul… and with every breath left in my body. I would bleed for you if it meant that you could have even a second more to live."

"And you also have to go back to California with the rest of them," Melanie pointed out.

"I'm not going _anywhere_ ," he said persistently. "They can find another Alpha fit for the job. I told you. I wouldn't _want_ to be an Alpha. It is dumb because Miss Goode is already Supreme, and it should _stay_ that way."

"Won't they worry?"

"Again, I don't give a _damn_ ," he said, going down on his knees and holding her hands. "Please… marry me. I will worship you and the ground you walk on until the day I die, and I will give you _anything_ your heart desires no matter _how_ bonkers or outlandish…" He paused, and Melanie sensed the sincere emotion in his firelit gaze and emotion. "Do you feel the same for me? Do you accept my offer of love and endless devotion?"

After a tumultuously-good turn of events in her life during those two fateful months, Melanie was at a standstill. Yes, she felt the same for her Alpha, but she was still so hesitant to leave behind all of the amazing friends she had made at Miss Robicheaux's – Misty, Coco, Mallory, Madison… even Cordelia. She even considered Zoe and Queenie despite them being mere acquaintances. In that moment, her choice was more than clear – a solid yes, to run off into the night with this man she had grown an attachment to, but little did she know, their souls had been attached and star-crossed the entire time.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _This is the end of the actual story, but there will be an_ _EPILOGUE_ _! I'm playing with the format a bit in the epilogue, so stay tuned._

 _If you've enjoyed this, please leave a Review, and to keep updated with when the epilogue is to be posted, Favorite and Follow!_


	15. Epilogue - Open Letter From Confinement

**Epilogue – Open Letter from Confinement**

 _ **4/20/2019**_

 _To the Warlock Council,_

 _It has been four years since I was found and came under your wings at the Hawthorn School for Exceptional Young Men. I failed to write to you, even though I had sent for all of my belongings, courtesy of John Vanderbilt, to be brought back to my home not far in the suburbs of Los Angeles where I lived before all of that… before meeting my soul mate, Melanie DeLongpre-Cross._

 _On the fateful night of August 23, 2015, I ran away into the night with her. John thought I'd gone mad when I went into the room we shared during our stay in New Orleans to pack my things, but bid me farewell anyways. I did not expect him to be the kind of man to hug, but he hugged me. I last saw him when he dropped all of my luggage off. I thanked him, and he was on his way. I was Alpha, but did not care any less of this as long as I had my Queen by my side. Being a student meant I was stepping on a stone that led me to my destiny._

 _Melanie and I were happy up until a year ago. We were married three years. We settled in my home after we went to a justice to get married. We had shared such passion that I never knew before. We had travelled – to my home city of London (my family liked her), to her part of Virginia (needless to say, her parents did not like me, nor did they like that we married without the ceremony)…Rome, Athens (she'd been there before and she liked it enough for me to take her there again), Paris… Madrid, Tokyo… once to Bora-Bora and Hawaii. She'd unfortunately lost two of our would-be children until we had a positive pregnancy test in the autumn of 2016. I was thrilled to have a little prince or princess._

 _I took care of her when she was with child – I provided with two jobs. I gave music lessons and worked in a library. Yet there was something…wonky… about her pregnancy. Within two months, she had grown full-term. We went to the doctor for an ultrasound, and she near-fainted. Melanie could not see the screen, but I could. It shocked me, chilled me to the bare bones… I saw something…_ inhuman _. It was clawing against something, chewing on what looked to be another baby previously undetected in her womb. I heard the doctor even quit her job._ _I ended up finding her, and she wanted to meet with me in a Catholic Church, where she felt safe enough… she told me she had quit because the baby resembled a demon and it frightened her; so much so, that she became a born-again Christian. The giveaway to her was the sight of cloven hooves. A demon, of all things. In what Universe? She'd gone mad, I thought._

 _Needless to say, Melanie gave birth a month later. It pained me to see her in agony. She nearly died. She lost so much blood. I had to use vitalum vitalis to give her any chance of survival, and she made a full recovery. I was allowed to hold my child, a son, after he was cleaned up and examined. However… the baby was human. Fully human. Yet… I felt this strange feeling of dread. I looked up. Melanie had been asleep, and in the corner toward her left side in the hospital room, I could see this cloaked figure in black with a white, wrinkled face. That was the start of my madness._

 _I keep seeing him about in the most random of places. When I would get dinner prepared, when I was at my work, or even if I took Melanie out to supper one weekend night. He was EVERYWHERE. I did anything I could remember from my studies to make the spirit leave. I learned it was a demon. He had only come to haunt our home when Michael (we named our baby after my own father back in London) was born. The little bugger nearly killed my Queen._

 _I did the unthinkable. He had been crying in the middle of the night, and Melanie asked me, half-tired, to go and check on him in the other room. I did as she told me to, and went to check on him. I tried to get him to be quiet, and behind me I felt the presence of none other than the white-faced spirit in black. He scolded me. He said that I am a poor excuse of a man, and if I killed the baby, I would be damned for all eternity. Being a warlock, I was damned already, but something clicked. This baby was not human – it was the Antichrist. I knew this somehow. I ran the bathtub and drowned him. My heart broke when I did it, but when I saw the look on Melanie's face, the baby was already dead. She was hysterically screaming and crying. She tried to take the baby from the tub and revive him, and I stopped her with all I could. The Devil used her womb to produce this spawn. The Antichrist present means the end of the world. I had to somehow stop that._

 _Melanie left the house not long after. I was arrested, taken into custody, the baby's body was autopsied, and my trial began. I was evaluated by a psychiatrist, and she deemed me clinically insane, and said that what I was experiencing was a psychotic episode. Melanie testified in court, and I felt so heartbroken at how she felt. I, the one who promised to always love her and do anything for her, had taken her only child. The jury and judge found me guilty but mentally ill. I've been in confinement at CMF (California Medical Facility) in Vacaville, hence the address. It's been a year. Only fourteen more to go. I may not make it._

 _ **CROSSED OUT**_ : _The white-faced demon is in this room as I write this letter. He's laughing at me._

 _They have me on so many drugs. Heavy drugs. It only makes the demon go away temporarily. They often need to give me injections 3x per day. It's torture._

 _ **CROSSED OUT**_ _: He won't leave me alone. He sent me against the wall in my cell._

 _I cannot survive here. This is my last letter being sent out. I tried to reach my Queen, but to no avail. It's broken my heart beyond repair to be apart from her. She won't see me, she won't humor me, she won't answer any of my letters. Do you know how much that HURTS?! I'd be given so much strength and energy if she could just LOOK MY WAY for a fraction of a SECOND._

 _I procured as many drugs as could fit in my pockets today. By the time you have read this, I am gone from this world. Perhaps my power and this BURDEN will go to someone else more deserving. I can barely use them anymore. The drugs get me down too much._

 _ **CROSSED OUT**_ _: You are a fucking coward. You would rather kill yourself than live out your sentence and find her upon release._

 _It is a fate worse than death to be away from her. At least if I die, she will eventually, and I will be with her once more. The Devil will NEVER GIVE UP!_

 _Adieu,_

 _Elijah Cross_

* * *

John Vanderbilt just sat at the desk in the office at the Hawthorn School, trying to take in what he just read. Their mail came late that day, and he had been busy teaching some new warlocks. He needed this blow like he needed a hole in his head. He had made friends with Elijah Cross, the enigmatic Englishman, and was amazed, like the rest of the Warlock Council, at his immense, unusual amount of power for even a warlock, let alone what was expected for an Alpha. Elijah had saved his life, opened up to him, and helped him learn during their time together at Hawthorn. Now, he was presumably dead, either by the proposed demon in his cell or the pills he talked about having and overdosing on.

He heard the door behind him open, a familiar voice accompanying the creak: "John? What's going on?" It was his colleague, John-Henry Moore.

The blond-haired man looked down and folded the letter: "nothing, just mail."

" _Just_ mail?"

John-Henry walked over to the desk and John stood up, letting him reach for the four-page letter messily scribed onto notebook paper. He didn't even need to read the insanity in full to understand what had happened. He sighed.

"Elijah," he muttered "He just up and left us."

"He was out of his mind," John said pensively. "I feel worse for his wife, though. He _killed_ their baby because he thought it was the Antichrist." He paused. "I wonder where she is."

"Not in California," the senior warlock said.

"Back to New Orleans?"

"That makes sense."

"I hope Cordelia wasn't mad at her for leaving like she did," John pondered.

"Not likely. The other girls adored Melanie," John Henry said. "I wouldn't worry."

"Do you think there is a chance we could see her? Just to… check on her?"

"No."

John nodded, accepting the nature of things. "C'est la vie, I guess."

"Dinner is prepared," John-Henry said. "We have a meeting after, as well."

"First…"

John took the letter from John-Henry's hand, unfolding the mess of insanity stretched out into four pages so it stood upright in his hand. He concentrated and set the top corner of the paper on fire, smelling the burn as he put it into the fireplace to reduce to ash. As he took a poker to the flames, he got a glimpse of a Leviathan cross, an inverted pentagram, and a horned creature. The crackle almost hissed, but in John's mind, he could hear an agonizing scream, like Hell itself was conjured in the fireplace with destroying the letter. John looked to John-Henry and they agreed to never speak of the letter, or Elijah, ever again.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _That's all she wrote! Literally. I hope you have enjoyed this journey! I was hesitant to make a third story, because_ Daughter of Darkness (AHS: Apocalypse) _was the most popular of the trilogy not just on here, but on Wattpad. Also, the first story on second glance was more popular on here than it was on Wattpad, but what else can I expect from a short story? I didn't even expect to write a second story because the first was a short based on the Hades/Persephone myth. I also worried a bit that this story wouldn't really be a fanfiction anymore and instead an original story, but I am glad I was able to tie it all in just enough for it to be still considered a fanfic._

 _If you enjoyed this, please leave feedback in a Review to tell me what you think! Also, please Favorite and Follow! To keep up with my latest story uploads and updates, please do the same to my actual profile, Favorite and Follow. Until next time... take care and many thanks! xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo_


	16. Disgrace (BONUS CHAPTER)

**NOTE:** _This chapter is a BONUS chapter, probably would have been added had I written it at the time. This is from the perspective of John Vanderbilt in the_ fixed timeline _, after Elijah performed Tempus Infinituum in the future. This would have been added around Chapters 10 or 11 of this story. I hope you enjoy this little piece! Leave Reviews, and be sure to keep up with my other work by following, favoriting, and check me out on Wattpad (Jurana Keri). I hope to write a fanfic for AHS: 1984 when it comes out, but we shall see!_

* * *

What's up? Here for an autograph, or are you a cop trying to nab me for my "escape"? No? Okay… that's fair. Name's John Vanderbilt. You've probably seen me on TV or bought tickets to see me take someone down. Or maybe you heard I killed a man by accident in the ring and was found guilty simply because my fists were considered "deadly weapons" in court. More on that in a bit. I was not always like this. I was always a bit _weird_ , in fact, even by normal standards.

I was born November 23, 1985 in Dallas, Texas. _No_ , smartass, I am not a cowboy. I don't have much of an accent either. Well, maybe a little just from living here – both of my parents are from outside of Texas; mom from New York, dad from California. My mom had me late in life, at age 39. My dad was older. They had tried for years to conceive but failed until they got me. My father is related to the Vanderbilt dynasty, who made their fortune off railroads a really long time ago. One of his cousins in California was loaded, a _billionaire_ , and he often helped our part of the family out financially. My father was well-to-do by association. Sometimes I would play with Trevor, his son, who was two years older than me. His older sister, Coco, was a brat. Little did I know she was different, just like me, until years later.

I am a warlock. I did not find out until I was 30 or so, but I have had these powers for as long as I could remember. I am able to divine or see into things that other people would have to learn about first to understand it. I can set fires with my mind. I am able to go from place to place without walking or running there. Lastly, I can move things with my mind. I have had weird incidents start around seven years old. I think it was finally having enough of school bullies that triggered it. When I was that age, I was a lot shorter than most of the boys. I also had very light blond hair. I stuck out like a sore thumb. I was called "midget Towhead". It did not help I had, and still have, a bit of a temper, so my reactions did not stop them. One time they were trying to chase me through the halls to beat me up, I hid, but then found myself staring at their backs, behind them, watching as they wondered where I went. That's transmutation… or, as the Hawthorn Academy called it, _salire per spatium_.

Telekinesis, moving things with my mind, I discovered on accident. I was ten and wanted to cut my birthday cake. My dad insisted he do it, so I tried to get the knife out of his hand, and before I could blink the knife was not in either of our hands – it had flung and lodged itself up on the cupboard door. It went right through. My parents did not know what to make of it, nor could I.

Divination is something I have used on and off throughout my life, even my career. If a contract seemed fishy, I didn't sign it. For me, it is like an inner knowing of things without actually experiencing them firsthand. I can even remember using it to cheat on tests I either didn't care to study for, or were really hard. It was my best friend in middle school. One kid thought I was having a seizure.

"It wasn't a seizure," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Are you sure? Your eyes were rolling in the back of your head!" he told me. I got along with him. His name was Ethan.

I tried denying it, but what he said next, spooked me a bit: "you were making this deep sound with your voice like you were drugged out." It was a guttural " _ugghhhhuuughhhhughhhh_ " he imitated right after saying this.

 _Riiiiiiiinnnng!_

"Aw shit, I gotta get to class," I said, the perfect excuse to cut the conversation short. "Talk later!"

"John, you were still _writing_!" I heard him say as I inched away from him, binder for my next class clutched to my chest.

"Nah, man, don't sweat it!" I exclaimed, now just feet away from him, "look, if I am late again, Mr. Guder is gonna write me up for detention!"

* * *

When I was 14, I took chemistry because there were no other science classes available, and I was required to take one. I was a freshman in high school, and one of the guys who had tormented me for years was sitting next to a girl I found cute. By this point, I was experiencing a growth spurt and my hair was not so light anymore. I looked a bit more normal, so the bullying stopped a little bit. This fucker, however, would constantly torment me or call me names. If it wasn't that, it was him being passive aggressive. My lab partner was Ethan, and we were doing some experiment. We each had a beaker over a burner with the substances we were trying to mix together, but I looked over at his set. I imagined the burner going on, and before I knew it, half the class screamed as the experiment blew up in his face. I forget what exactly he mixed together, but he was done after. Well, not _done_. More like hospitalized for 2 months. He could never breathe the same after that. His face was badly burned. The girl I had a crush on was not as hurt by the burner going off, but she was traumatized. So yeah, I have pyrokinesis.

* * *

Within the next year after this incident, I looked for a way to _seriously_ become more normal. This included a way to suppress what was inside me, my powers and all. I took up boxing after I was sent to the principal's office for getting into a fight with someone else who picked on me. It was my dad's suggestion, and once I began to train more and more, I felt a change within. Girls noticed me more, I had my first girlfriend, but we split after 5 months strong. Probably wasn't so strong, though, looking back. Otherwise she would still be with me. I never was _ugly_ , but boxing boosted my confidence tenfold. I wasn't picked on at all by the time I was a junior in high school. In fact, all I did was school, homework, the occasional hookup or party, and of course, training. That was also when I started state and regional matches. I won most of them… my secret? Pretending the opponent was someone who tormented me. I would work myself into a bit of a frenzy before every match. I needed to feel the fighter in me… the fire in my veins. It was a way to control myself from accidentally setting him on fire, that's for sure.

I was one of the youngest boxers in my region. This was not a high school sport, like football or track. A lot of my training was done outside in a boxing club just down the street from my house. When I was 18 years old, I got my first contract offer, which I rejected. The manager offering it sounded like bad news. I was correct. Remember the divination skill I have that I mentioned? He was nabbed three months later for cheating some athletes out of millions of dollars. Dodged a bullet there. I was offered my next contract, which was beyond anything I could have imagined – ten years, $500,000 payout to start, more as I won big matches. It was ridiculous. I was 18, about to become a sensation in the boxing world. My father got a lawyer involved to see if this was the right choice for me to make. I signed it, my manager signed it, and my first fight was in Las Vegas. I was 182lbs at the start, so I was junior heavyweight. I won that first match, then again it wasn't like I was fighting Alvarez or Mayweather. I can remember girls coming up to me after the match on the way to the locker room, also reporters from various magazines trying to get a word from me as the new champion.

Time progressed – I got richer, and I had anything I could possibly want or ask for. Don't get me started on women. That was my favorite part about being famous; having more than enough women willing to suck your cock or bend over on all fours for you. I did not even have to ask or bribe like some guys with money do. They genuinely thought I was attractive. That, or the fact I am virile. I don't know.

That stopped, however. I was 23, and it was a match in my home state, Texas. Houston to be exact. I had won, and like usual, I had a bunch of girls fawning over me, hoping to get banged that night by me. Reporters for sports magazines would come to me, and I just was not in the mood that night. However, when I was sitting down, having some water given to me, this girl came up to me. She was not very attractive, but I tried to be nice anyways. She had mousey brown hair, was a little heavy set, wearing a sweater, jeans and pair of sneakers. She wore round glasses, and looked at me shyly.

"Uh… h-hey… J-John Vanderbilt?" she asked me.

I looked up at her and stifled a grimace with a smile: "yeah?"

"C-Can I have your autograph?" she said, extending out a Sharpie and a _Sports Illustrated_ issue with me on the cover.

"Uh, sure…" I just wanted it over with, but as I was signing, she said something that near repulsed me. Remember, she is not that attractive to me.

"I swear, I'm not like the other girls…I…I don't want to… go to your hotel…" she stammered.

"I know you're not, because you _wouldn't_ be," I remarked, giving back her Sharpie and magazine.

I did not expect for that to make the girl cry hard enough to send her friend over to me. I did not firsthand see her crying, but I saw her friend. She was _gorgeous_. She was _pissed off_. She was a looker – red hair, blue eyes, a fair face, a little shorter than me, curvy but slender; just my type. I just took it. She had approached me with this look on her face like 'are you serious, dude?'

"Excuse me, but… were you just an asshole to my friend here?" she asked me.

I didn't say anything, but stood up, looking down at her calmly. I was just kind of showing off, though – my body was and still is pretty ripped. She didn't seem very fazed, save for a subtle glance down away from me.

"I'm asking you a question!" she said forcefully. "Did you act like an asshole to my friend?"

The unattractive, plump girl looked at me from a few feet away. She had stopped crying, and I glanced over at her: "I didn't mean to."

"How could you treat people like that?!" she retorted. "You're not God's gift to women! You're a pompous ass!"

I inhaled sharply, smelling her scent a little bit: "I'm sorry."

"Don't say 'sorry' to _me_ ," the redhead said, pulling her friend's arm over so she was closer to us. "Say it to her."

"Hey, John, is everything okay?" That was my bodyguard doing his job, putting one of his thick arms in between me and the two girls. He looked to them and said: "girls, you need to keep it down, you're causing a scene."

"No," I interjected. "They're not. Leave them be."

"We were just leaving," the redhead said. "Come on, Rachel."

"Don't", I commanded calmly. The girl who asked me for an autograph, named Rachel, turned to face me. The redhead rolled her eyes and looked back at me. I felt myself getting a hard-on. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your friend's feelings." I got a bit more confident as the redhead fully faced me, arms crossed.

"Rachel," I heard her say, "go get the car. Swing by right in front of the venue. I'll be out in a second."

When she left to get the car, I approached her slowly, like a wolf stalking a rabbit. She tried to back away, but I made eye contact that deterred her.

"What's your name?" I asked.

She was silent for a minute, still not having it: "Lydia."

"Beautiful name, beautiful woman," I flirted with a smile.

"I'm _not_ sleeping with you, okay?" she snided.

"I didn't say one thing about that, did I?"

"No, but I know what you're all about."

"You have no idea, baby doll," I laughed. "How about your number?"

"No, you're crazy."

"Not crazy," I contradicted. "But serious."

She rolled her eyes and finally said: "I have to go."

I did not see Lydia again until I was driving around the streets of Houston to pass the time a few days ago. I was in a rental luxury car – a white Ferrari convertible with the roof down – so I was hard to not notice. I saw vivid red hair on a young woman in the sunlight overhead. I had sunglasses on, and when I beeped the horn at her, she was at full attention. I tipped down my sunglasses so she knew it was me.

"Oh my God," I heard her say to herself.

"Fancy seeing _you_ here, gorgeous," I flirted.

She crossed her arms and looked at me sternly: "what do you want?"

"You tell me," I joked.

"I'm not hopping in bed with you," Lydia answered.

"Why do you assume that?" I giggled, reaching across to open the passenger door on the car. She actually kept walking. She did not bite. I drove slowly to follow her, and she noticed right away.

"Stop following me."

"Not until you get in," I smirked.

"I'll call the cops, I'm serious!" she said slightly louder.

I shook my head: "baby doll, it's going to take a lot for me to stop than a couple cops, okay?"

"Ugh!" she grunted, stopping in her tracks. "Why are you such an _asshole_?!"

"There you go again," I muttered, shaking my head. "Assuming I'm an asshole. I said I was sorry about your friend."

"I'm not assuming," Lydia sneered, "I'm stating a fact."

"Why don't you let me _show you_ I'm not an asshole?" I winked.

I had a strange idea that was just crazy enough to work. Trash barrels were out on the street for collection, and one of them that she was standing near was uncovered. I risked her getting hurt in the process, but I wanted this beauty in the car with me. I looked at the garbage bag closest to the top, and it caught fire. Lydia looked over and gasped, getting a bit scared and almost running toward the sidewalk on the other side of the street. To prevent her from getting away, I used telekinesis to make her fall back on her ass. I parked on the side of the street, ignoring the fact that the trash barrel was now engulfed in the flames I conjured from my mind, and ran toward Lydia. She was still on the ground, and I reached down to help her up. One hand was holding hers and the other was on her waist. She grunted.

"Don't touch me!"

"What, I'm helping you!" I said emphatically.

"Look, this hurts," she said to me.

"I can see that. _Now_ will you sit in my car?" I offered. "I'll take you to lunch or something… just… _please_ …" I was not one to beg. Ever. "Let me get the chance to know you, and give me the chance to show you who I really am." She agreed, but not before having to call the fire department to put the fire I set out.

* * *

After that fateful day, Lydia and I grew closer, though it was far from easy. She was stubborn, and all I wanted to do was show her I had feelings for her. I gave her small gifts, like jewelry, to do just that. We went on dates. I tried my best to treat her like a princess. We did not become an official couple until five months later, and when I told her I loved her, she didn't believe me. In fact, she was suspicious of me for the longest time, thinking I was with other women when she wasn't around. I never once was. When Lydia came into my life, all of that stopped. However, she would get mad at me if I checked out a waitress or said something "flirty" to another female in front of her. Once, Lydia was my date (obviously) to a press afterparty and we were mingling, having some drinks and hors d'oeuvres. By this point, I was with Lydia for about eight months, and she was right next to me when I was introduced to this beautiful blonde with an hourglass dressed in a red gown.

"Ooh," I had purred. "Better be careful. You'll set this room on fire, doll."

Lydia elbowed me and made a face. It was even worse because the other woman smiled at me. That night, on the way back home, she was very silent, and when we unwound, she was still silent. Not saying a single word to me. I had walked into the bedroom and took off my shirt.

"Babe? What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You're not convincing me."

She darted a look at me like she wanted to strangle me: "John, let me ask you something, and don't fucking lie to me."

I rolled my eyes and looked at her. She was laying back on the bed but sat up to look at me: "what is it about me that makes you want to flirt with other women in front of me?"

My eyes widened: "Why would I lie?"

"Oh please!" She tossed her hands in the air and walked over to me, saying all the while: "you claim you love me, yet you pull this shit _all the time_! Checking out the waitress when we go out, then tonight with that _hussy_ in red! Right in FRONT of me!"

"I'm a man," I said, trying to calm her down. "It's what we do. Don't be so jealous."

" _Jealous_?!" she exclaimed, walking past me. I watched her and it looked like she was getting a bag out of her side of the closet. I took a minute to watch her go back to the closet and pull some clothes, hangers included, off the rack.

"What are you doing?" I asked. I felt my heart crack a little bit. I just thought this was one of her outbursts. This happened before. She did not actually leave, because I was able to smooth things over.

"I'm getting out of here. I'm done with this shit, John!" she grunted, packing her bag.

I walked over to her and took her bag away from her: "no, you're staying."

"Want to fucking _bet_?!" she screeched. "Let it go!"

"No." I was not having her shit. I know I messed up, but this was not necessary. "You're not going anywhere, Lydia."

"Why would you care anyways?! If I left tonight, you would forget all about me, and go hire a couple of _hookers_ to help you along!" Lydia hurt me saying that; she was tearful now. "You don't care. Don't act like you do!" I pulled at the bag, but she fought me. "Let go of me!"

I took a few deep breaths, watched her get dressed, and as she put her shoes on, she zipped the duffle bag she had packed for herself. I knew I fucked up. I had a crazy idea as she was going down the hall and down the main stairway of the foyer. My house was not a mansion, but it showed people I was well-off. I heard her crying as she walked down the stairs. I went into my side table drawer and took out a small jewelry box before using transmutation to discreetly get to the first floor (the living room, to be exact). Before she could open the front door, I used telekinesis to lock it shut. I watched her struggle from where I was in the archway leading to the living room, and she dropped her bag. She struggled some more and grunted, crying. I hated seeing her so upset… but I could _not_ lose her. I loved her too much. I approached Lydia as I watched her slide down against the wall near the door. She was sobbing. It broke my heart to see it.

I crouched down and tried to console her, moving her red hair away from her face: "sh…"

"Don't fucking touch me," I heard her under her breath. "Let me go. Where is the key?"

"I'm not letting you go," I muttered. "Ever."

"I hate you." That hurt, but I had to counter it with the opposite.

"I love _you_ ," I told her. "I know I am a bit of a hound, but I have never, _ever_ cheated on you. I won't flirt in front of you again. I didn't know this hurt you so much."

"You're an idiot," Lydia said.

"I have treated you like the princess the entire time we have been together. Meeting you has changed me," I said, trying to keep a sincere tone of voice. "I have given you anything you wanted, haven't I?"

"That doesn't mean anything," she said. I rolled my eyes as she continued to cry on the floor with my arms around her.

"It _does_ ," I corrected her. "All the other women before you…" I began, trying to pick my words carefully, "were just easy lays. I did not shower them with gifts like I do with you. I did not ever take any on dates, like I do with you. I never let one sleep in _my own bed_ , like I do with you. I love you Lydia… and honestly?"

Her blue eyes looked up at me, listening to me. I wiped her tears away with my thumb: "what's your point?"

"I want to… _continue_ doing that. Forever," I said.

With that, I took out the small jewelry box from my pocket, and opened it in front of her. She still looked sad, but then a tear came from her eye as she saw the vintage-style halo ruby engagement ring within. She took in a breath and looked at me, shaking her head.

"It's… beautiful," she said with near disbelief.

"Diamonds are so overrated," I joked. "I was going to propose this Christmas, but…" I looked down and then into her eyes, "the time is now, isn't it?"

"Don't you think it's too soon?" she asked me. Again, we were together eight months in total, counting the time together before we became official three months before this night.

"No, never too soon. I want _you_ …" I proceeded. "Will you marry me, Lydia? And will you unpack your bag and come to bed with me?"

It took five minutes of her stubborn arguing before she said yes. She had said: "you're only doing this to smooth me over. I'm not a fool."

"Yes, you are," I giggled. "A fool… in love with me… enough to be jealous when my eyes wander."

She playfully hit me before I put the ring on her finger. She accepted. We married that summer – it was 2008. When the press got word of my engagement to Lydia, everyone knew my business. I could not even take a vacation without someone recognizing me or Lydia. Some girls that recognized me were bitches, but I paid them no mind. Or I countered it with wit. The wedding was in July, and life began to look up for the both of us. By the end of the year, we learned that we were expecting a child. My divination and senses picked up a change in Lydia within a week of us being married. We had _a lot_ of sex, but now that we were married, I did not need to cum on her tits anymore. In April 2009, our daughter, Cecilia, was born. She looked more like her mother in the face but had my blond hair. Having a daughter, I know now why some men are so protective over them. I knew I had to protect my little girl, and be there for her.

Sometimes Lydia and Cecilia, a baby, would come along if I needed to fight a match in another state. She never minded taking care of the baby in the hotel while I had to be out. She would watch me on TV. At least she was supportive. Life was great until 2012. Shit hit the fan really hard. I killed an opponent in the ring. This is what really happened, if you _did_ read about this in the press. The press got it all wrong. They took footage from a face-off from before the match and over-sensationalized it to make people think me and Brandon Campos (the one I killed) had a _massive_ rivalry. In reality, I did not know the guy, but I did have an idea, from my own impressions, he was not as seasoned to be fighting with someone like me. I was 27, Brandon was where I was a few years before. Agree with me or not, I think it was an error on their part. I heard about the story of Ray Mancini killing Kim Duk-Koo in the ring – Mancini didn't serve time, but I did.

* * *

I was in my usual light frenzy before the fight, and I dealt his surprisingly hard blows back to him to keep things interesting, like usual. Eventually, I punched him so hard, twice in fact, that when he was rushed to the hospital, they found his nose bridge backed up into his skull. You know how sometimes, people die from a palm strike to the nose? Well, my punch ended up having the same effect. Brandon also had a severe head injury because of me. He was in a coma, on life support for a week before his family pulled the plug on him. The bastards pressed charges on me, and I was jailed, set for a trial. I plead not guilty, because I had _no intent_ to kill him. I had a very good lawyer, too. That did not do much. Aggravating circumstances, such as the media swaying public opinion (including those in the jury), the fact I punched Brandon _twice_ when the real damage was done rather than stopping, and the fact my fists were considered "deadly weapons" due to my training, I got 2 to 15 years in the Texas State Penitentiary in Huntsville under one count of manslaughter.

Of course, the press got involved. I just didn't want to entertain them. My life was over… at that point, at least. Being sentenced made me lose hope for everything – I lost Lydia, I lost Cecilia, I lost my assets and everything I had. It all went to her. She filed for divorce shortly after the verdict. I remember being so heartbroken and angry that she would leave me like this. I can somewhat understand why – no woman would want to be associated with a convict, and likely she would cheat on me anyways while I served my sentence. She came to visit me two months into my sentence, and at first, I was reluctant to talk to her. However, Cecilia was my flesh and blood. I wanted to know about her. There was a glass divider and a wall between us, and phones on either side we could speak through. I picked up mine and slowly put it to my ear.

"How could you?" Those were my first words.

"John, I…"

"You _what_?!" I hissed. "I love you, I give you the world, and you just… _snatch_ it from my hands like this?"

"You would have lost everything, anyways, don't forget," Lydia corrected me, keeping calm. "You're behind bars." There was a silence. "Look, I already signed the forms issued to you for divorce. You just need to sign them."

"I'm not doing it," I relucted. "I may even serve 3 to 5 years on good behavior."

"You're insane!" she exclaimed. "You _killed_ a man! It's no wonder, you were always purposely making yourself angry before fights! What the _hell_ did you think would happen?"

"I would _never_ kill anyone!" I said back. "You _know_ me. You, me and Cecilia will be a family again when I get out of here! You'll see! _I_ can see it!"

"She's going to be an adult by the time you get out," Lydia said. "I'm sorry, but I am done. I'm not waiting, wasting my time for you to come out of here when I could be potentially be seeing someone else. A _father_ , a man more suited to be a _father_ to our daughter. You're not going to be there."

I wanted to set her on fire through the glass window that separated us. I mustered up as much calmness as I could, suppressing tears from how genuinely hurt I felt: "how is she?"

"Cecilia?"

"Who else?" I asked coldly.

"She is doing very well. She is with my mom right now," she said.

"All I need to know."

I pursed my lips and hung up the phone on my end, standing up and going toward the guards that were witnessing the exchange. I could almost see in my mind's eye that Lydia started to cry in the room behind me as I was escorted down the hall to my cell.

* * *

I served three years. I was correct when speaking to my ex-wife about serving a shorter sentence, but it was not due to good behavior. Those three years, I was tormented by these twins, Axel and Hunter Baxter. They were both in serving time for something really bad. They both had long criminal records to each of their names. They were identical twins. I would have to beat the shit out of them several times, and the guards did not care because they _knew_ these guys were _bad news_. One time, they tried to ass-rape me. I bashed one of their heads against a wall during that, since it was in the showers. I need a shower thinking about that… it took care of him, though. The other twin didn't dare continue with me. His brother had a concussion.

It did not stop them. The fateful day that changed my life forever came about three years into my sentence, the year was 2015. I was just minding my business in the mess hall, having lunch. They upturned my tray onto my uniform. I was so pissed. Out of nowhere, they start attacking me, bringing me up onto the table where my food was until I got off and out of their grip. The other inmates were watching us, and I even wondered where the guards were to intervene. I was cornered against the wall within a few seconds, and without even thinking about it, I sent one flying and set the other twin on fire with my mind. I could still smell his flesh burning off his bones. I still to this day do not know for a fact if he survived; I think he did. All I remember in that moment, was being escorted back to my cell and questioned about what happened. I told them they tried to attack me. Also, that they could not find a source for the fire that set one of the twins ablaze. Obviously.

The next week was a haze. I don't remember much. I do remember one of the guards came to me and opened the shutter on my cell. I went closer to see what it was about.

"You have a visitor, Vanderbilt," I heard.

"Who?"

I found out who – Ariel Augustus. Never met him before until this day he visited. I don't know what could have prompted him, but he seemed so… I don't know, authoritative. He was a short Hispanic man with a black cloak and a black Panama-styled hat. I felt a bit uneasy at first, but he was seated on the other side of the glass window. I was curious, so I sat down and picked up the phone on my end.

"Hi," I said. "Can I help you?"

"I probably can," the man said with a bit of an accent. "I am Ariel Augustus."

"Are you with the feds? Gonna get me out?" I asked.

"No, I am not with law enforcement. I saw the surveillance footage of you and those two other inmates. I am quite impressed."

"What? _Impressed_?" My breathing got a bit heavy. This guy knows I have powers.

"There is nothing to be frightened about, I can assure you," Ariel said, trying to calm me down. "I'm a warlock, and I think you are one as well, John."

It made sense to me now. This guy was a _warlock_ , probably with the same powers as me, and saw the footage that the CCTV surveillance caught when I was defending myself. I shook my head.

"You can't be serious. I was a professional _boxer_ , I'm not a warlock," I challenged.

"You are indeed. Only a warlock has powers like what I saw in that footage," Ariel said. "You have had them your whole life, haven't you?"

I blurted: "I…I was defending myself. Is the one I burned dead?"

"It doesn't matter. You had an impulse that triggered your powers. It triggered you to act, John," he told me. "Your life is about to begin. You're coming with me. Today."

I could not believe my ears. This man, a self-proclaimed warlock, was trying to get me out of prison. To demonstrate his powers, he unlocked and opened the door that separated the wall and glass windows between us. Telekinesis, just like me. I looked around to quickly glance at the security cameras spying on us, and I concentrated to the point where they broke or exploded, either or, and fell off their settings. This was a smart move on my part. The authorities have not found me to this day for escaping, just because I broke the security cameras. I'm far from being on a "Most Wanted" list, though. A guard intervened when I got up and went for the door.

"Hey, no, you're not going anywhere, Vanderbilt!"

 _THUD!_

I instinctively raised my hand and sent the guard backwards toward the wall, holding him there and speaking to him: "oh, I am… I am going places. Out of this damn _dump_!"

Ariel walked into the side of the room where I was: "John, put him down. That's enough."

"He's going to know I left," I said. "Then I'll have bigger fish to fry."

He took out this capsule of gray powder and crushed it on his palm, looking at the guard. I released my telekinetic grip on him, and he landed to his feet. Before he could phone someone else on the walkie, Ariel walked up to him and blew it right in his face. I watched the guard become pretty much like a zombie, compliant to Ariel's will as he chanted some ju-ju.

" _Silentio animo bitio,_

 _Inclination voluntatis meae_!"

There was a silence, and the guard obeyed every order: "forget that John Vanderbilt was ever an inmate here, forget he was here for any reason. You are to refrain from speaking to the other guards about this. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The guard was so compliant it scared me, but we left the room, and we had to repeat the process on some other guards, but I was out. I was a free man!

* * *

There was a car waiting outside, and I made sure to telekinetically destroy any security cameras in our direction outside as well. We were taken off, and to this odd building. When I got out with Ariel, I followed him. It looked like an iron maze of sorts. I asked some questions.

"Is this underground?"

"Yes, but it was not always like this," Ariel said. "There was a nice building here once. It had giant wooden beams and giant glass windows that let you see forever. Problem was, we could see out, but others could see _in_. When Miss Cordelia went on her publicity tour and outed us to the world in 2014, some locals decided they did not want our kind here."

"Miss Cordelia?" I asked. "Who is that?"

"Our Supreme." He sounded very condescending. "The locals had a Molotov cocktail party and burnt everything down save for a sculpture from the garden. We went underground again… _literally_."

"Ariel? Is it possible I can ever see my daughter again?"

"Not likely in the near future. You have a home with us."

When we went down into the compound, it was quite dim but had a large fire pit in the main foyer. There were a few men in suits waiting for us, and there were a bunch of other younger men in what looked to be school uniforms there. I was still in my prison jumpsuit, bright orange, sticking out like a sore thumb like I had as a young child. I was introduced to the other members of the Warlock Council – Ariel was the Chancellor, and there was John Henry-Moore, Baldwin Pennypacker, and Behold Chablis. Then, Ariel announced me. A few warlocks recognized me.

"Oh my God! You're John Vanderbilt! How the hell did you get out of prison?" one of them asked.

"I've been a fan for years! Sign my briefcase later on!"

"Silence!" Ariel said. "John Vanderbilt is here and some of you may know him as a boxer, but he is a warlock. One of us. Like many of you, he feels like he may not belong here, or if this is the right place for him, but let us all make him feel welcome and remind him this is his _true home_ … with us."

Then proceeded a bunch of introductions and handshakes, pats to my shoulder. I felt alright being there. It was better than prison. The enclosed space of the school, being underground, sort of reminded me of prison but it was so much better than prison. I felt finally accepted for me, being gifted like this. My first week, I had trouble being on time to lessons, but I went down to where Behold was teaching a group how to turn one type of mass into another kind of mass. Specifically, it was changing a pile of crystals into an iron sphere. I went in, hearing the chanting, hearing Behold encouraging them with flamboyant gestures. He was gay, I could tell. He saw me, and telekinetically whipped the book I needed at me, so it hit me in the chest.

"Vanderbilt! If you ever expect to rise beyond Level One, you must be on time!" he snapped. "If punctuality is too _taxing_ for you, join the Magic Castle and do card tricks with Neil Patrick Harris!"

" _No thank you_ , I'm good," I said with a chuckle.

"Now, let's see what you've got…" Behold said. "Let's see if you have real power or are just punching the wall all day."

I rolled my eyes and heard the other warlocks laughing. I opened the book, looking at the one next to me to see what page the chant was on. I joined in and began to chant with the rest of them " _Ex forma mutata, facti sunt figura novi_ …"

"Your power is molecular, woven into your DNA. _See_ every atom, re _arrange_ them, _transform_ them!" Behold said, his voice booming with encouragement.

I kept chanting, and the spell was successful with our efforts. Behold clapped and give us all praises. He kept walking around, and I held the ball to see if it was real. It was a pure iron sphere. I was not alone for long at Hawthorn – a British guy named Elijah joined us a week later. He became my roommate, I helped him unpack, and I would soon learn this guy was ridiculously powerful. The Warlock Council even claimed he had powers that are more common in witches, our female counterparts. The one thing I cannot get out of my head about him was the familiarity I had when meeting him. Maybe I knew him in another life, or maybe he was a member of the press in passing but I doubt it. That, and his intense ice blue eyes. Sometimes, I felt like he was stabbing into my soul with them.

* * *

Elijah was not bad. He kept to himself, though I laughed because he told me he was 30 and never been laid. He didn't find me funny, though. After 2 months at the school, he and I underwent trials to become the Alpha, since we both were the most powerful warlocks there in such a short time. I was able to do two of the trials, Scrying (divination), as well as salire per spatium as I said, but this time, I fucked up. I died. The knife Baldwin used via telekinesis to motivate me went into my chest and I didn't move fast enough. Guess who brought me back? Elijah.

Elijah not only brought me back and healed over the wound like it never happened, but he did _all three tests_ flawlessly. No effort. He could do everything – divination, transmutation, and stricidium, or changing the weather. This guy made it _snow_ during hottest month of the year in California. _Fucking August_ , he made it snow. Of course, he nearly injured Baldwin by freezing him to death, but Elijah… he was practically a _god_. From what I know of the Seven Wonders being in this mystical world for so long, Elijah possessed most of the skills plus what it took to be Alpha… and Alpha he became. He chose me to go with him to New Orleans with the Warlock Council, and there, he met this girl, got married within a few days because apparently, she resembled the one in his dream. Melanie was her name. She was a pretty new student Witch with Miss Robicheaux's Academy. Meanwhile, I got the best blowjob in my life. Thanks, Madison.

Needless to say, Elijah decided to leave his duties as Alpha and leave Hawthorn, so I sent for his things to be brought back to him. I was promoted to a Level 3 warlock, and became part of the Council. It's been four years since I saw or spoke to Elijah. I got a disturbing letter in our mail which I read, and it was from him. He was not in the best shape, let's just say. John-Henry and I saw the letter, and agreed to never speak of him ever again but… he was my friend. I feel for Melanie, his wife – he literally killed their baby boy thinking it was Satan or something. The letter was delusional, like a psycho wrote it. Toward the end, certain sentences were crossed out, written over… it was a mess. I burnt the letter. I don't have it anymore. I can still remember every word.

It makes me wonder if I should leave Hawthorn to find out what happened to him, maybe check on Melanie to see if she has been okay since that happened. Lastly, and most important, I would love to visit my daughter, Cecilia. She is six now, I think. I want to be a father to her… the best I can be.


End file.
